Time Delay

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.

The Recent Experiment

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 19:43:00 +0000

I was just starting to feel comfortable with the frequency of my posting again, and then we hit another one of those pesky gaps. My previous post – not counting a quick stop to repost the (then) latest edition of Sugasm – was on July 1st, and now here we are over a month later.

I’ve got the usual excuses all lined up. In between then and now I’ve had to deal with a massive leg infection – complete with spending a lot of time sitting still with my leg elevated, and a ten day course of antibiotics that would’ve inflicted diarrhea on a marble statue. So a big fat biological tub-o-guts like me didn’t even stand a chance.

I’ve had to deal with my Dad being admitted to the hospital twice in a three week period. The first was for cardioversion (the stopping and restarting of his heart) due to his congestive heart failure issues. That was followed up by a lengthier stay for pneumonia.

There were also a number of days where the heat kicked the thermometer’s redline up into the 100s. My reaction to which wavered between ‘Yikes!’ and ‘Kill me, kill me now!’

But right now, Dad’s out of the hospital, my leg (and innards) are functioning about as well as can be expected, and while the weather is surprisingly tolerable for August. And as it’s high time that I get back to posting here, . . . here I am.

The Next Event

Come mid-August (the 14th through the 16th, which is about as mid-August as you can get) there’s a BDSM event that I’ve been very interested in attending.

Leatherwoods is a BDSM camping event. Which, on the one hand, doesn’t really make it seem like it would be my kind of event. Thinking back to my youth, I don’t believe that I’ve ever been camping. Ever. Plus, I don’t really get along that well with things like ‘nature’. I’m allergic to all sorts of plant life. And bee stings. (And animal dander, and so on.)

But on the other hand, it takes place eight miles from Salem, and right now (the late entry period) costs $40 (not counting camping space rental. Which makes it both the closest and cheapest BDSM event I’m likely to ever find. How, I ask you, can I possibly not at least contemplate going?

Workshops, play parties, outdoor dungeon, a chance to meet more people in the local community, and so on and so forth. This is the kind of stuff I need.

August vs. Health

Of course, being held in the middle of August, it’s smack dab in the middle of the debilitating hot weather season. I don’t do so well in hot weather. My health problems tend to be worse in the summertime.

The ever-present headache is worse the hotter it is. I tend to lose consciousness more easily and more often. There is usually an increase in seizure activity. The exhaustion ramps up to higher levels. All kinds of problematic crap like that.

In mid-June, I had all of that going through my mind as I asked myself the question, “Should I go for it? Or should I just give up and stay home?” And as I’m sitting there mulling over all of the pertinent information, a thought occurs to me. It’s times like this that I could really use a submissive.

The Concept of the Temp Submissive

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. If I had a sub or a slave, I’d have someone there to look after me. Tend to my needs, and whatnot. Of course, I don’t have a sub. So what’s the logical solution?

A temporary submissive. This is what my brain cooked up. I needed to advertise for a temp sub. An unattached person (ideally female), into service submission who might be willing to sub to me for the duration of Leatherwoods. And with Leatherwoods being a relatively inexpensive event, I could probably even scrape together the membership fee for ‘my’ sub.

I talked this over with Zorch (not his real name) the next time I saw him, to see if there were obvious flaws in my logic that I was overlooking. Zorch isn’t into the whole BDSM thing, so he couldn’t speak as to the protocol of the concept, but he thought it was a great idea for me to pursue.

Before I actually jumped into this, I wanted some input from someone who is into the whole BDSM thing. I’d actually met one of the people working to organize this year’s Leatherwoods last year at a Halloween party, and we’ve since commented on each other’s posts a few times on FetLife. I decided that was enough of a ‘connection’ to go to her for advice, and sent her a message via FetLife asking her opinion about what I wanted to try.

Her advice was both helpful and encouraging. (In addition to talking about my interest in finding a temp sub, she also made assurances about the official first aid – and unofficial expertise via the attendance of BDSM aficionados/perverts from the medical profession – amenities at the event in case (if/when) I did end up having medical issues while there.)

She talked about how a lot of people into Dominance and submission are of a classically 50s-era mindset that would make the prospect of attending a BDSM event unescorted a socially unacceptable move. Which could make my offer even more appealing to a single submissive interested in attending Leatherwoods.

She encouraged me to post my information on the Leatherwoods FetLife group, and to think about crossposting the request to other relevant local groups.

So, I did.

The Posted Message

“Seeking Help / Offering an Opportunity”

Here's my situation: I'd really like to attend Leatherwoods. My problem is that I've got a variety of medical conditions, and the heat of summer is not the best of times for me, health-wise.

It recently occured to me that this is when I really need a submissive. Someone into service, who'd be able to carry stuff, run and get water, and help me out if I had problems. That sort of thing.

Now, while I don't have a sub of my own, I started wondering if there were any unattached/unowned sub or slave women out there, into service, who would be interested in a three-day long period of submission.

I've been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome. I also have an undiagnosed seizure disorder. (I've also got Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but that mainly just makes me quirky.)

I clock in at 450 lbs on the scales, walk with a cane, and wear dark glasses due to light sensitivity.

Basically, what I'd need in a sub is someone to carry stuff for me. Fetch me water when I needed it. Keep me from banging my head hard against the ground during a seizure (always a possibility), and stop well-meaning bystanders from calling 911 if it happens. Bring me around it I pass out (in mid-August?-an actual probability). Also, to help set up the tent, and so on. (Still working on getting a tent, but I know enough people who camp I have no worries about being able to borrow something from someone.)

Beyond that, the exact nature of our relationship during the event is completely up for negotiation. I need a service submissive for what I've outlined above. I'd like a BDSM submissive to function as a play partner, but that's not a necessity if it's not something she's interested in.

I'm more than willing to pay her $30.00 event fee for the weekend, and put her up in my tent.

If anyone is interested, message me so we can discuss it.

I posted the above message on the Leatherwoods group, then went on to post the same thing on the FetLife group for the Salem Munch, and a couple of the local submissive groups.

And then I waited.

And waited.

(And waited.)

The Usual Results

In all the excitement of having something new to try, I had forgotten the fact that these quirky little experiments rarely ever pan out for me.

Two weeks after posting my barrage of temp sub requests, I got a response to one of the threads from a woman asking if I’d found anyone yet. She stated that she couldn’t offer to sub to me, as she was on the Leatherwoods planning committee, but that she was interested in helping me find someone.

This ray of proverbial sunshine came when I was sitting at home with my infection-riddled leg propped up. I’d been checking my email via proxy. Placing a phone call every night, alternating between my brother (with his fairly low-speed satellite internet) and my sister (currently house-sitting for my aunt, using her high speed internet) and having them check two of my several email accounts. Calling my brother one night I discovered that I had an email from FetLife informing me that someone had responded to a thread I’d started.

So, I had him sign into my FetLife account, and read me the post. Then I dictated a message over the phone informing her that I’d take any help I could get.

My next over-the-phone internet check provided me with the information that she was the volunteer coordinator for the event. And while she wouldn’t be able to present my offer of free membership in exchange for submissive duties to anyone as an official volunteer opportunity, she was going to keep my situation in mind. If she found someone during the screening process that was suitable for me (and presumably not exactly what the event needed), she’d tell her, “I know this guy . . .” and then see what happened.

Her response was the only response I got. And I never heard back from her following her response to my message to her (which was me responding to her response to my post).

[I just used the word ‘response’ – or some variation thereof – five times in two sentences. Methinks I need a thesaurus.]

If Only I’d . . .

In an ideal world, I’d’ve done more than just post a request and hoped that someone contacted me. I should have hit the munches. Shown my face at a local event or two. I should have made a more concentrated effort to get my message out there.

But . . . no car, no license. (State of Oregon is unwilling to issue me a license for medical reasons anyway). And the ‘local’ BDSM community meets two cities away, which is too far to walk.

The Salem munch hosted a barbecue I’d contemplated attending, but then the leg infection hit. And the antibiotics I was on – apparently some sort of vampire pills – had a warning label on the bottle which read “stay out of direct sunlight”. (Weird.)

Better Luck Next Time

Leatherwoods registration closed on August 3rd. So my window of opportunity is closed. Shut and locked. I think the window’s got bars on it, too. And an alarm.

So now I’m thinking about Leatherwoods 2010. (Actually, I’m primarily thinking about KinkFest 2010 in March, but next year’s Leatherwoods is on my mental calendar as well.) The ideal situation would be to have my own sub by then. Either a regular, permanent submissive, or a recurring play partner willing to function as slave for a weekend. But if that hasn’t happened by then, I’ll be back to looking for a temp sub again. Because it just seems like such a perfect solution.

Who knows? Maybe by next year, I’ll have some local unattached service submissive-minded women reading the blog, who will jump at the chance to help me out.

Sugasm #169 (Better Late Than Never)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 21:30:00 +0000

Sugasm #169

Jenny McClain courtesy of Badgirl’s Hotbox.

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 #170? 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

Clothespin Communion
“Surrender to the sensation.”

Remembering the Pain
“And it really was that bad.”

Short And Sweet
“Why don’t you turn over”

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Financial Submission

Editor’s Choice
Belonging

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Absence
Evey Can Haz?
The Ghost of Sex Toys Past (Part One of Three)
“Boy, Girl, or In-between?” Princess Frida’s Fabulous Talk, and My Thoughts
“Work” Confession #297

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Busty beauty Jenny McClain
Flash Spanking Videos
Leighton Meester Sex Tape
Pearls
Thrashed on their bared buttocks
Waiting for Tonight

Sex Humor
Fat Sex and Why It’s Good

BDSM & Fetish

Don’t Have Mercy on Me, Baby
Formalities, and, on second thought, greetings
The Going Away Present
He gave them pain like balm, and they begged him for it
High School Bully Part 3
Home Alone?
Mollena Williams added to 100 Divas
A Night In Bondage
Under instruction
The war of the sexes

Sex Poetry
At the movies….

News, Reviews & Interviews
The Independent lists “the ten best sex toys.” I fly into a rage.
Take Me Out to the Sapphic Sex Romp
Vibratex Pandora
The Wily Old Crocodile: An Interview with Eosuchus

Sex Advice
Anal Sex for Beginners
New At Sex Is Magazine: Foods That Enhance Your Sex Drive
Q&A with Dr.Ruthie - Asking for Better Sex
Starting At The Bottom: An Intro to Anal Play, Part 2

Erotic Writing & Experiences
Amber gives me a blowjob..in person!
From Behind
Its Morning…(The Last Time)
Just fucking.
A Matter of Taste
May i feel said he
New Man at the Lesbos Palace
The Problem with Thongs
The Raise
Randy: the new big cock
Stranger Fuck & Plough
Whore, Adulteress, Sinner
You can leave your hat on

The Ghost of Sex Toys Present (Part Two of Three)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 20:54:00 +0000

Previously on Time Delay: The ghost of Jacob Marley showed up at my door, wearing chains forged of all the sex toys I've ever owned. (Both of them.) Plus others I've used.

And since I’m trying to keep my posts shorter – and just talking about my history with sex toys crossed the finish line at just over 1700 words – I decided to turn the Sex Toy column into a three-parter. (Plus, that also meant I could go to bed earlier that night instead of writing what would eventually end up being this post and yet a third installment still to come. Sleep, wonderful sleep.)

Ginger Leigh’s Sex Toy Contest

The winner of Ginger Leigh’s Fabulous Shopping Spree (which I entered by running my sex toy wish list several posts ago) was NOT me. I say again, I did not win $1000 worth of sex toys.

However . . .

For the four weeks leading up to the entry deadline, they held smaller contests for people who submitted their entries prior to the last minute. Prizes were awarded for the following categories: Sexiest List for Women, Sexiest List for Couples, Sexiest List for Men, and List With the Most Items

I posted my wish list on the blog and e-mailed in the link some time between the second and third of these contests.

When I was putting my list together, all I was thinking about was picking out stuff that I wanted to have. Toys I wanted to use to help me get off. Toys I wanted to use on/with a woman, should one ever come my way. Miscellaneous pieces of bondage equipment. All told, it seemed (to me, at least) to be a general grab-bag of miscellaneous stuff.

But I’m guessing that my list had more male-specific masturbators and the like than the other lists submitted by that point, because when I checked my e-mail the following Monday, I discovered that I’d won the prize for having the “Sexiest List for Men”.

My wish list had made it clear that I wanted to fuck fake pussy-and-ass combos, just jacked off by electronic cock-strokers, take an anal-sex simulating plug up my ass, and get some non-simulated anal via a woman mounting me with a double ended ‘strapless strap-on’. And because of this, sextoys.com rewarded me with something called the “Screaming Ovation Intimacy Kit”. A nifty little package containing two each of the following: disposable vibrating cock ring, lubricated condom, lube packet, warming lube packet, wipe, and mint. Like a weird little Noah’s Ark of sex products.

I still wanted the grand prize. (Of course I still wanted the grand prize. Duh.) But after winning one of the weekly contests leading up to the big drawing, I figured that even if I didn’t win the $1000 worth of masturbatory fuckables, I at least won something.

So, . . . yay me!

Go To a Masturbate-a-Thon, Get a Masturbate-a-Thing

As I mentioned in my report on the recent Masturbate-a-Thon party thrown by the inimitable Darklady at the end of National Masturbation Month, I left that event with a brand new sex toy. The ‘X-Rated CyberSkin Virtual Touch Pussy’. (Best party favor ever.)

The day after the party, I opened up the package so I could get a better look at the thing.

The vulva is set in a disk about three inches in diameter and an inch and a half thick. Past that initial inch and a half depth, the vagina continues on in a tube about an inch and a quarter wide and five inches long. The whole thing is soft and squishy.

It’s also brown. (Yes, my fake pussy is non-Caucasian. Deal with it, racial purists.) Uniformly brown. I’ve seen pictures of the ‘white’ version of this toy online, and it’s beige with pink lips. Mine’s just brown.

I played around with it for a little while. Felt the weight of the toy in my hand. Thought about the logistics of having sex with the thing. Slid a finger into it. Everything but an actual test drive.

I’d just gone from having no sex toys to having a really pretty nice one. (I’d later discover that these things go for $40.00 on sextoys.com.) I didn’t want to destroy it through misuse. And the thing had some detailed care instructions.

Part of the listed care regimen included the use of a product called ‘Renew’ which is a CyberSkin-specific maintenance product. And not knowing whether it was an actual necessity, or just something that the company insisted you use to boost their sales, I decided to wait until I could obtain some before finally showing my toy a good time.

(Of course, by time I was finally able to get to an internet connection that would allow me to shop at an online sex toy store, I was once again running on low funds and eating Top Ramen.)

Return to Ginger Leigh’s Sex Toy Contest

A couple of days after the Masturbate-a-Thon, I checked my e-mail to discover that not only had my sex toy wish list contained enough male-oriented toys to win me ‘Sexiest List for Men’, but at a total of 40 items, it was also long enough to win me ‘List with the Most Items’. Holy crap.

‘List with the Most Items for Under $1000’ was the grand-daddy of the weekly drawings before the big one. The prize for ‘List with the Most Items for Under $1000’ was the LELO Iris Blue.

Yes, that’s right. I’d just gone from having no vibrators, to having a LELO-brand, rechargeable, dual motor, silicone vibrator that retails for over a hundred dollars.

What the Fuck?!

[For the briefest of moments, I – ever fond of anthropomorphizing the inanimate – considered charging up my LELO Iris, then sliding it into my CyberSkin Pussy to see if I could make them get off together.]

It’s definitely a toy for use on/in girlie parts. A LELO toy . . . the brand I keep seeing rave reviews of in other people’s sex blogs . . . a common sentiment being “expensive, but worth it”.

This isn’t just a toy. This is bait. (Not to be confused with ’bate, which is what you’re supposed to do with it. I guess maybe it’s ’bate bait.) This toy is coming with me to the next Darklady party. The next BDSM event. The next whatever. I might just wear a big sign around my neck that says, “Yes, ladies, I am happy to see you . . . but that IS a LELO vibrator in my pants. Wanna play?”

Trying Out the CyberSkin Pussy

I finally found information online regarding inexpensive CyberSkin care, and it turns out (according to the internet – I’m hoping it’s correct) that cornstarch is an adequate substitute for Renew. Once armed with that information, I went racing home to finally try my toy out.

I retrieved the toy from it’s hiding place (one protected from possible rodent incursion) and stripped down. I launched some porn clips in Windows Media Player. Lubed up the pussy. Lubed up my cock.

Initial penetration was . . . well, problematic. I couldn’t see what I was doing with my massively obese stomach blocking my penis from view. And the CyberSkin pussy has a very small, tight opening. Trying to get things lined up blind (especially without overbalancing) was a challenge.

But I did eventually manage to get my cock in, and once that happened, I started stroking it in and out. “Just like I’ve seen guys do it in porn!”

How close is this artificial pussy to the real thing? How close is fucking it like real sex. Well, on one level, you’re asking the wrong guy. It’s been a ridiculous number of years since I fingered anybody, and I’ve never actually had sex.

But . . . last year, a friend of mine and I were having a conversation about my sexual experience. I masturbate. (A lot.) And there were a number of occasions back in the day when CJ would take my cock in her mouth and perform half a blowjob (the first half – the half without an orgasm). She’d suck until her jaw gave out, then leave me on my own.

Anyway, my friend told me that it didn’t matter how often I jack off, or how long I last in (or outlast) a sexually active mouth. He told me that the first time I had PIV sex, I wouldn’t last. Because that’s just how it is. The first time you put your cock in a pussy, you don’t last long at all.

And going strictly by that set of parameters, it’s entirely possible that the X-Rated CyberSkin Virtual Touch Pussy is EXACTLY like the real thing. Because I did not last.

When I finally achieved penetration and started pumping my cock back and forth inside the toy, I felt myself heading toward the familiar point of no return faster than ever before. “What the fuck?” I almost slowed my pace to prolong the sensation. Back off, keep the orgasm from happening too soon.

But then the aforementioned conversation popped into my head, and I realized that the CyberSkin pussy wasn’t going anywhere. I’d have time to try and master the slow fuck later on. Why not go for the first-timer’s traditional embarrassing premature ejaculation the first time around. It’s not like ‘she’ was going to make fun of me.

Of course, after shooting my load so very soon after just getting started, some part of my brain apparently decided, “Oh my God, I am SO blogging this premature ejaculation!” (I swear, there’s something wrong with me.)

The Second Time

Just before I sat down to write this, I pulled the CyberSkin pussy out for a second encounter. I lasted longer this time, but it was still a much quicker ‘fuck’ than a typical session of masturbation would have been.

And it wasn’t any easier getting things started this time, either. It took more time trying to secure the penetration than I spent on the actual fake intercourse.

I’m hoping that the third time (and beyond) will be the charm.

Next Week, On ‘Time Delay’

“Tell me, spirit, are these sex toys that WILL be in my collection, or that MIGHT be, only? Because I’d really like to get off using some of this stuff . . .”

The Ghost of Sex Toys Past (Part One of Three)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 20:24:00 +0000

I’ve been meaning to talk about sex toys for awhile now. Just another subject on the long list of topics that makes up the blog’s ‘to-do’ list. I’ve even had a couple of intro sentences rattling around in my head for the piece:

“I don’t have anyone to have sex with. (A complaint my readers hear from me time and time again.) So here’s a slightly different complaint, just for variety – I don’t have anyTHING to have sex with, either.”

Of course, that’s no longer accurate. I now have a couple of sex toys. (I had an strange couple of weeks, several weeks back.) But I’ll get back to that in part two.

“Do Blowjobs Always Make Your Hand Hurt This Bad?”

A long, long time ago (maybe ten or fifteen years?), I sent off for a product I found advertised in an adult mail-order catalog. My often faulty memory tells me it was called an ‘oral-simulator’, or something along those lines.

The thing looked like it was the illegitimate child of a piece of a fish tank filtration system and something you’d find in a toilet tank. (“Mmm . . . sexy? No.”) The business end was a hard plastic cylinder, the back of which connected (via soft rubber tubing) to a hard rubber squeeze bulb. I hesitate to say ‘rubber squeeze bulb’, because it will no doubt make you think ‘rubber’. This thing felt like plastic. Not soft plastic, either.

Anyway, it came with a latex sleeve that you had to fit over the open end of the cylinder. Once it was attached thusly, the next step was to reverse the remainder of the sleeve, stuffing it into the cylinder. The instructions then said to lube up the inside of the sleeve, lube up your erection, and slide it in. Then you just squeeze the bulb, which supposedly provided you with oral sex-like suction. You were to do this over and over again until you came.

I tried using this thing three or four times, each time succumbing to Santayana’s definition of insanity by thinking, “By God, maybe this time the damn thing will work!” Invariably. by the third pump my hand cramped up. By the fifth I’d get sharp pains in my hand. I don’t think I was ever able to pump the thing more than ten times, at which point my whole arm was throbbing and riddled with sharp, shooting pains.

The device claimed to feel JUST like a real blow job. Uh-huh. Somehow I doubted it. (I think if I was left handed if might have felt JUST like a real heart attack.)

Each time I’d give up on the device’s proper use, I’d go ahead and detach the latex sleeve from the friendly little torture unit, and finish myself off (practically from the starting line, for all the good the pump and suck did me) by sliding the lubed sleeve up and down on my cock.

CJ’s Toy Collection

During my occasional get-together’s with CJ, she’d usually bring an assortment of her toys along with her. The usual girlie toys – dildos, and vibrators, and the like. (She owned buttplugs, but they never accompanied her on one of our naughty little trysts. Sadly.)

Despite not losing my virginity during our association (or indeed ever, as of this writing – and I’m so fucking horny!), I did get to play with her pussy. I would finger her. I’d fuck her with the dildo du jour. I’d occasionally hold a vibrator to her clit while she squirmed and writhed around on my couch.

But interestingly enough, the very first foreign object I penetrated her wasn’t a regulation sex toy. There were a few classic ‘improvised’ toys that she was fond of, and one of them factored into the correspondence leading up to our initial physical encounters. So, early on in our erotic affiliation, I used my first dildo-like object to fuck a woman. But not actually a dildo.

Strangely, being a picky eater, I had always thought that a cucumber had NO viable uses up until that point. But when you peel about two thirds of the length of one, exposing it’s slippery insides (and leaving you the unpeeled third as a handle) you’ve got an interesting object to play with. Especially if you’ve also got a naked woman laying on the bed, her legs spread, asking you to put it in her.

Now, I don’t get hard walking down the produce aisle or anything, but I do have some very fond memories of that night. Sliding that slippery cuke into CJ’s even slipperier cunt. Sliding it slowly in and out of her. Slowly at first. Picking up speed when it seemed natural to do so. Driving Mother Nature’s sex toy with my right hand, locating and playing with her clit (CJ’s, not Mother Nature’s) with my left.

Wow. I’m picturing CJ naked with a cucumber sticking out of her, and I think I’ve gotten somewhat off track. What was the topic of this post again?

Sex toys. Right. I remember now. Yeah. She had a fair collection of sex toys. (Man I want to fuck someone with a cucumber again. Bananas, too. Actually, mainly bananas. If I could take a banana and . . . okay, getting off track again)

Sex Toy Discrimination

One year, around some gift-giving occasion (Christmas? Birthday? Valentine’s Day? Arbor Day? The Anniversary of the Death of Richard Nixon?) CJ mentioned that she’d thought about getting me a sex toy of my own – something I could use to get off with.

But she’d never paid any attention to toys other than vibrators and insertables before, and she was flabbergasted by the price difference between what she usually shopped for and her speculative shopping trip for me.

“Boys’ toys are so much more expensive than girls’ toys!” she told me. (And thus, no gift of a sex toy for me that Cinco De Mayo or Klingon New Year. Or whatever the occasion was.)

Of course boys’ toys cost more. How do you manufacture and sell a hole? You need quantum physics. Or the ACME corporation. (Didn’t Wile E. Coyote have a portable hole at one point? Or was that just a Dungeons and Dragons thing?)

Okay, I’m going to admit that it’s not so much just a hole as it is an object with a hole in it. Because otherwise I’m sure I’d get off on some weird tangent comparing artificial vaginas to donut holes, and – well, nobody wants musings like that.

The Anal Experiment

A couple of years ago I’d been in a particularly anal-oriented mood for a week or so when I was sitting at a computer doing some on-line Christmas shopping. One thing led to another, and ten to fourteen business days later I was the proud owner of a Doc Johnston Anal Probe.

A foot-long hand-held butt-fucker. (Huh. Used up a lot of hyphens back there.) About five of the overall twelve inches were handle. The rest was intended to go up the ass. (To go up MY ass.) Most of the ‘probing’ length was slender, but it had a good-sized bulb atop the thing. Something intended to make you say, “Hello!” upon initial entry.

I successfully used this toy three times. I attempted to use this toy over a dozen times. I think it’s a good toy – it’s just not a good toy for me.

It’s floppy. And I’m obese. I don’t know how many of you have ever tried to put a floppy foot-long sex toy in your ass while being obese, but it’s not something I recommend.

Plus, at my size, I’m not really built for a prolonged connection between my fingertips and my butthole. They can reach, but they can’t stay for very long. Floppy toy renders the handle relatively useless for the purpose of initial insertion. Which means grabbing onto the bulb and pushing it directly into my anus. The lubricated bulb. Into my lubricated anus. Even starting with bone-dry fingers, you’re soon working with lubricated digits.

So, it’s not a good toy for times when I think, “Gee, I think I’d like to go fuck my ass with a sex toy.” It would probably be a great toy if the sentence “Darling, would you please come fuck my ass with the anal probe?” worked, but without the ‘darling’ in question . . . useless.

But my not being able to get the most out of the probe isn’t the best part of the story. Oh, no.

When the toy wasn’t in use, it was wrapped in a towel behind a box on the top shelf of my closet. The last time I used it (or attempted to use it, as case may be), I washed it afterwards, like always. Let it dry. Wrapped it in it’s towel, and put it where it got stored.

And there it stayed for about six months or so. Until I was in the right mood (horny, anal, and desperate) to try it again. So, I reached back, retrieved it – towel and all – and discovered something weird.

Mice had eaten it.

Oh, they hadn’t ‘eaten it’ eaten it. It’s not like there was nothing but a plate of anal probe crumbs and a note reading, “Thank you for the snack – signed, the Mice”. But they had chewed on it. It had been nibbled on. There were chunks missing. (They’d eaten through the towel to get to it.)

Is the material that Doc Johnston makes his anal probes out of really tasty? (To mice, at least.) Or is it that the flavor of the inside of my ass is a rodent delicacy? (Good God, I hope that’s not it.)

Needless to say, it went into the trashcan instead of my ass. Didn’t even use lube, and it went right in. (Trashcan’s a fucking show-off.)

Wrapping This Up

Anyway, that’s my basic history with sex toys. Not really much to speak of. Definitely not much to speak of successfully. (Except for that cucumber, of course . . . )

I’m planning on posting part two of this series (“The Ghost of Sex Toys Present”) early next week. That’s where I’ll talk about the two new sex toys that I recently obtained.

And the predictably named “The Ghost of Sex Toys Future” follows at some point after that.

Now if I can just get out of here without making a lame Charles ‘DICK-ens’ joke . . .

Sugasm #168 (Yes, That's Right, I've Joined the Sugasm)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 20:13:00 +0000

Sugasm #168

HNT courtesy of Erotic Garden.

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 #169? 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

Covet
“My mouth waters at the sheer beauty.”

Lilly’s Turn - Part 3: Wherein Lust, Greed and Risk Intersect
“She was biting her lip to prevent herself from making a sound.”

Oh Dirty Girl
“It was at that moment that I knew I needed him to take me and take me dirty.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Porn’s 2009 AIDs Outbreak

Sugasm Editor
Review: Why Just Her

Editor’s Choice
My very first HNT!

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Erotic Writing & Experiences
He Can Use Me All Night – Part Two, Yet Another Hotel
Hump Day Poetry
I Can’t Get No Contraception - Part 2
Just fucking.
Keeping It Simple
Tedious Training
Wet dream at the airport-part2

News, Reviews & Interviews
20 Questions with Satine Phoenix
Favorite Jeans -HNT
Girly HNT.
Glow Plugs and the Kegel8 Effect
I’m unemployed and I live with my parents
Protection and Promiscuity

Sex Advice
Congrats! You are the new proud owner of some Sexy Lingerie!
Pompoir: The Art of Milking the Lingam
The truth about female ejaculation

BDSM & Fetish
Breed Sex Part 1: They Want to Cum in You.
Daddy Spanked Me
Darklady’s 9th Annual Masturbate-a-Thon - The Solo Sex Circus
High School Bully Part 3
Humiliation
Imprint
A Kiss Goodbye
Meeting a Domme
Le 6 janvier…L’histoire!…My version

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bent in the chair for harsh punishment
Cikita
Lindsay Lohan Topless Twitter Picture
Liv - Pure Perfection
Nude at daylight
Teen girl bending over for some harsh cane stripes
Touched

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Eagerness & Blow Jobs – Lessons Learned From Gay and Bi Men
Faking Orgasms | How it feels for a girl
On Love, Loss and Taking Risks

Darklady's 9th Annual Masturbate-a-Thon - The Solo Sex Circus

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 18:32:00 +0000

What the Hell? An event report going up on the blog a mere 13 days after the event took place? That’s unusual for me, here of late.

The Road to the Masturbate-a-Thon

Remember me saying that I absolutely HAD to go to Darklady’s 9th annual Masturbate-a-Thon party? In my recent post on National Masturbation Month I explained how she’d named me the Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown. I mused about the potential for hot, sexy, scantily clad (if clad at all) women in clown make-up to be attending this circus-themed event. (And me with my great big clown fetish and everything.)

Well . . . I went. Darklady, the ultimate party hostess, found me a ride from Salem to Portland and back. And armed with that, I guilted my siblings into getting me into Salem, and then home again afterwards. My brother was drafted for the ride over, my poor sleep-deprived sister for the post party return trip in the wee hours of the morning.

Earlier – and with more sleep charging her batteries – my sister helped me out with what was to be my headgear for the night. We thwarted my greasepaint allergies via the use of an (off) white fabric and colored markers, creating a clown face in mask form.

Clown mask, the ever-present sunglasses, white T-shirt, black shorts, red suspenders . . . and a bicycle horn. (Honk! Honk!) Stylish!

And in the week leading up to the event, I would masturbate myself to orgasm many a-time, all the while fantasizing about the party. All those sexy masturbation fantasies about masturbation that ultimately [SPOILER] I proved far too shy to perform in public on that occasion. [Stupid ‘issues’.]

Carnalval Games

The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were on hand, manning (womanning?) the kinky carnival games.

The ring toss game where the rings were the typical carnival sort, but the targets were a field of dildos. The ‘Guess How Many Condoms Are In the Jar’ contest. And, of course, the ever-popular ‘Whack-a-Nun’.

I declined to play the cock ring toss. (I know my limits, and hitting a target with a moving object using only my sense of aim is waaaaay beyond them.)

I thought about whacking a nun. I’m quite fond of bringing some kind of impact tool (bare hand, paddle, etc.) down upon something spankable (usually the classic bare feminine ass). If I’d have seen any of the Sisters who were really into it, I’m sure I would have. But everyone I saw paying their $5 to take their three swats were told that they could only deliver one hard one, the other two had to be soft. Skirts came up, but panties stayed in place. It just wasn’t exactly the thrill I was looking for.

Oh, I didn’t rule it out completely . . . everytime I saw a nun taking her three paddle hits, I thought, “Probably later.” It’s just that later never came in this instance.

I did place a guess as to how many condoms were in that jar, though. My guess was 734. The actual number was in the neighborhood of 1050. The closest guess was 1025. Followed by a number somewhere in the mid-800s. The third place guess? 734. Which earned me a reach into the ‘It’s My Pleasure’ grab bag, from which I pulled out a ‘vegan-friendly polyethylene’ blindfold. (Which goes right into my woefully thin selection of BDSM toys, right next to the wooden paddle and roll of duct tape.)

Action As Far As The Eye Could See

During the two previous Darklady events I attended, all the sexual activity I witnessed took place in designated areas – in the roped off dungeon section, on the casting couch, and upon the mattresses of the Rubitorium. Examples of tasteful nudity (both partial and full) could be found all through the venue, but the actual genital stimulation was always kept in it’s properly assigned places.

At the Masturbate-a-Thon, however, everywhere you looked, you could find somebody playing with themselves. Usually men, stroking their exposed erections while watching something arousing, either on the projection wall or right in front of them.

Most of the acts of masturbation involving women that I was witness to weren’t women playing with themselves as much as women being played with. (Male fingers disappearing up between female legs.)

At one point in the evening, a woman that I met at KinkFest (a woman that I’d really, really, really like to play with some day) was standing in the ballroom, bent at the waist, sucking the cock of the guy in front of her while the guy behind her was playing with her pussy.

I see this from across the room, and decide to move closer for a better look. Large, slow moving vehicle that I am, other people surround her before I get there. It’s still fun to watch, but I don’t have a ‘ringside seat’, as it were.

The majority of the people surrounding her are male, and most of them have their cocks in their hands, stroking away as they watch. That’s when the guy playing with the lady’s pussy motions to one of the masturbating onlookers. To me, it looks like he’s offering to let the guy play with the pussy. At which point I’m thinking, “Holy fuck, why wasn’t I the one standing there?”

But I apparently misread the signal because instead of stepping aside to let the newcomer at her pussy, he instead takes the guys cock in his mouth and starts sucking away. Huh. I-uh, okay. My brain processes that for a moment, and then seeing the guy that I thought was about to get to play with her pussy getting his cock sucked instead, I reiterate the thought: “Holy fuck, why wasn’t I the one standing there?”

(Clown would really like a blowjob someday.)

Eventually, more of the surrounding men step forward, and it turns into a big man-on-man group grope/suck/hump with a hot girlie center.

After midnight, when – according to party rules, actual intercourse became acceptable behavior – a few of the people who’d been masturbating all over the venue switched over to fucking. All over the venue.

I was sitting in a chair in the ballroom, people watching, when a couple came over and took the chair next to me. She stripped and sat down, he flipped her legs up over her shoulders, mounted her, and started pumping away. Crazy!

Our Ringmistress

Now, as stylishly attired as I was, I had nothing on our hostess. The Dark One was resplendent in her Ringmaster’s dress, top hat, and funky hypno-swirly goggle-style sunglasses.

When Darklady and I first came face to face (face to mask?) during the party, she looked at me curiously, like she was only about 75% sure of my identity. “Are you Zeitgeist?” she asked.

My response was to shrug my shoulders and honk my horn a bunch of times. (That’s not a euphemism for anything.)

She grinned, and said, “I thought so.” I then thanked her for having me at her party, and she reminded me that as the Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown, I had responsibilities throughout the evening. So, I asked. “Just what are my responsibilities, exactly?”

I think we were both stumped on that one. What she came up with was that I was to circulate throughout the party, and be ‘Zeitgeistastic’. (My spellchecker redlines ‘Zeitgeistastic’, but I know that it’s a real word, because Darklady said it. Fuckin’ idiot spellchecker.)

She then reminded me of the opportunity to ‘perform’ a masturbatory act on the casting couch. Which is when I told her my sad, sad story.

“You know how the rules here are ‘don’t touch without first getting permission’?” When she nodded her head, I continued. “Well, earlier I asked if I could masturbate, and I said ‘no’.”

She seemed appropriately amused by that. Then told me to relax, maybe have a drink or two . . . and then ask again.

My First Real Sex Toy

There was a cute little crossdresser walking around with a tray of ‘goodies’ – like the peanut and hot dog vendor roaming the aisles between circus acts – distributing free sex toys to those interested.

I was one of those interested. So when the question “Would you like a toy?” came, I said yes. The majority of what was in the tray were little plastic flowers, although there were other options.

“Would you like a vibrating flower? Or do you want a pussy?”

That had to be a trick question. I’ve wanted access to a pussy since I first saw one in the pages of Penthouse magazine. Oh, wait, he was still talking about toys. Right. Gotcha.

I told him I wanted a pussy, and he came up with a large blister pack containing an “X-Rated Cyberskin Virtual Touch Pussy”. (My first real sex toy!) Then cute little crossdresser handed it over, saying, “You can have a pussy, big scary clown man.”

(I really need to start grabbing people at these events and asking permission to use their names – or scene names, as the case may be – in my blog. The ‘cute little crossdresser’ in question is one of the local BDSM/kink personalities. I see him everywhere at these events. Everyone knows him. But my weird obsessive-compulsive rules structure won’t let me call him by name here in the blog without first getting permission. Names withheld, and all that stuff. And yet, I never remember this until I’m sitting back home at the keyboard.)

To date, I still haven’t tried out my pussy. Why? A couple of reasons, which I’ll go into in my next post, assuming that my next post is about “Sex Toys”, like I suspect it will be.

Everyone Loves a Clown?

During the course of the party, I’d be told that I looked creepy, scary, frightening, and a litany of other synonyms for the sentiment. (I sure hope that they just meant the mask.)

One lady even screamed. Now, granted, she caught sight of me when my head was slowly – and admittedly creepily – emerging out from between the folds of a curtain. But still, screaming? Really?

One guy pulled me aside to tell me that after seeing me, he was going to have nightmares for a week – and that he was an artist, who often drew ‘creepy and scary clowns’, so he should be immune.

I put the mask on when I arrived at 6:50. Full head mask. Very warm. I tend to overheat easily anyway. Hundreds of people in the venue. Active people. Socializing, dancing, masturbating people. (Not all at once.)

By 11:30, I realized I was headed toward an incident. And after having a full-blown seizure at Darklady’s New Year’s Party, I thought that passing out from overheating at this one would probably be a little much. So I went ahead and unmasked.

There was one really attractive woman who had evolved throughout the evening from being dressed to wearing nothing but a pair of bright red panties. Everytime she saw me she gave me a dirty look. Until I took the mask off. The first time she passed by me after the clownface was stuffed into my pocket, she slowed to a stop, doing a double-take in my direction. Then she actually smiled at me before moving on. Weird.

I Lust a Clown

There were a few other clowns at the party – mostly male.

The one female clown in attendance was half of the husband and wife team that was making kinky balloon animals for the party. (I saw a lot of woman wearing balloon cocks in balloon harnesses that night.)

I’d previously seen the female clown’s profile on FetLife, and wanted to talk to her (fantasized about more than just talking, actually, but talking for a start). But when she wasn’t actively twisting balloons for people, she was moving around the place, never seeming to stop. “Social butterfly,” her husband called her. “Flitting here and there . . . can’t catch her.”

The husband seemed cool. But my fetish didn’t come to the party to talk to GUYS in clown make-up. Oh, well.

What Else Does One Find At a Circus?

There were all sorts of impressive costuming efforts in synch with the circus theme. I saw several people in skintight animal suits, being followed (or led) by animal trainers. There were acrobats, strongmen, and other circus traditionalists.

But my favorite costume had to be the guy walking around in a giant box costume painted up in perfect reproduction of a popcorn box . . . which he’d lined with plastic, and in addition to containing him, was also filled with popcorn! People would reach in and help themselves, happily munching away at his costume’s innards.

Partway through the evening the box sprung a leak, and you could find him by following the trail of popcorn.

Broken Promises

In addition to vowing to attend the party during my National Masturbation Month post, I also mentioned that I’d promised to actually masturbate during the event.

I had planned to. I wanted to jack off in front of people. I wanted somebody to watch me cum.

But I’m ever so shy . . . (bats eyelashes)

I saw a lot of cocks at the party. But I didn’t see any small cocks. (I’m not saying that there weren’t any out on display, just that I didn’t happen to see anybody exposing theirs.)

And I’m sure that I wouldn’t have been laughed out of the building had I dropped my pants. But . . . did I really want to take that chance? You wouldn’t think that a 450 lb man with a smaller-than-average sized penis would have any body image issues, but . . . there you go.

One of the first things I did when I got back to my house that night was to jack myself off, berating myself for not having done it at the party. Jack off, and, you know, die a little inside.

The Image I’d Leave the Party With

Somewhere in the 1:00 hour, my ride homeward and I both decided that it was probably time to leave.

As we were preparing to depart, this woman came up the stairs from the Rubitorium. She was wearing fetishy high leather boots and a top hat. (And yes, that was her complete ensemble.)

Incredibly build and mind-numbingly sexy. Long brown hair with a matching nest of pubes. Her breasts were on the large side of my ideal, but still within the fuzzily defined range. Yikes!

If she hadn’t been arriving naked from downstairs – an indication that she’d probably just gotten done playing – I think that I’d have tried to postpone our departure, and propositioned her.

As it is, we just left. Probably better to have that image of her in my head than the memory of her turning down my clumsy advances anyway.

All In All

It was my third Darklady party, but my first Darklady Masturbate-a-Thon. I’d been told that there was a discernable difference between her parties and her PARTY. Between her regular old shindigs and ‘The –Thon’. And I was not lied to.

I’m eagerly awaiting her next party, whatever it may be. But deep down inside, what I’m really counting down time towards is next May, and the next Masturbate-a-Thon.

This is the Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown, signing off.

The Clown Fetish

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Fri, 29 May 2009 20:36:00 +0000

“Everybody loves a clown.” Heh. While that age-old statement is definitely an arguable one (especially taking things like coulrophobia – better known as ‘fear of clowns’ – into account), it does form the basis for a follow-up statement:

“Some people even lust after a clown.”

I like clowns. Female clowns. No, you probably don’t get it – I really, really like female clowns.

“You’re WHAT Kind of Pervert?”

At KinkFest, I had several people ask me for the story behind my scene name.

[Huh. I haven’t actually written the KinkFest report yet, have I? Yeah, I’m pretty sure that I’m still writing it, despite it’s ‘much belated’-ness. Just not today. Probably not this week. “Early June” is what my brain now tells me.]

Now, where was I? Right . . . some of the KinkFest attendees were asking, “Why ‘Zeitgeist the Clown’?” For the most part, I gave them all the same answer. (It’s the same answer that I’ll give in a post I’ll write next month.) And while everything I told them was true, I didn’t tell them everything. Not most of them, anyway.

But the one person who asked . . . well . . . after telling her the origin of the name, I also ‘fessed up to the fact that . . . “I’ve also got a clown fetish. So that factored into choosing the name, somewhat.”

She looked at me as if I’d suddenly turned into a mongoose made entirely out of pinecones, who had then immediately eaten the only brick of anthropomorphic cheese that knew the cure for cancer.

“A CLOWN fetish?!” she said, obviously hardly able to believe what she had heard.

It occurred to me at that point that the clown fetish might perhaps have been a piece of information best kept to myself. Alas, it was too late for that. She now knew. So it was time to . . . what? Explain? Attempt to justify? Knock her unconscious, drag her back to my room, put her in manacles, and deck her out in clown white for later private play? (Oh, if only I owned manacles . . . and clown white . . .)

I didn’t exactly talk through the basis of MY clown fetish, but tried to cover the broad outline of clown fetish in general. All the while thinking, “Man, why haven’t I done a blog entry on this yet?”

Knowingly Incomplete

I’ve no doubt that I could easily sit here behind my keyboard and bang out 20,000 words . . . and still not cover all the basics of the clown fetish. Clown fetishism in general, or clown fetishism as it specifically applies to me. The bias against it among the general populace. The bias against it amongst other fetishists. Preconceived notions, and weird crap I’ve thought up while spending the afternoon fantasizing about hot, sexy, horny clown girls.

But I’ve been making an effort to keep my posts shorter lately. I’ve been getting complaints about their length. I’m sure that now that I’ve (finally) started, clown fetishism is a topic that I’ll want to revisit anyway, so why try and cover everything the first time out, right?

I will start out by saying that there are – for the purposes of today’s post – two different kinds of clown fetishists. Those who are attracted to clowns, and those who get off by becoming clowns. I fit into the first category, and I’m going to completely ignore the second at this point in time.

Clown White and Face Paint

For me, a large part of the fetish is her face. White skin, oversized red smile, equally colorful eyes and nose, oftentimes presented in exaggerated or simply odd shapes . . . there’s just something about it that turns me on.

Some people think that’s weird. Or, more accurately, some people thing that I’M weird because of this attraction. But really, when you stop and break it down . . .

‘Alabaster skin’. Or ‘skin like a porcelain doll’. Attraction to a woman with these qualities doesn’t mark you as a pervert.

And are you really sick in the head if you can appreciate the attractive qualities of the geisha? The geisha is oftentimes presented as the manifestation of female Japanese sex appeal. (Both the often misunderstood by Westerners to be prostitutes geisha, and the actual prostitution-oriented oiran from which the geisha tradition evolved.)

Yes, the geisha are pretty much considered universally sexy, with their face covered in white make-up, their lips and eyes accented in red and black, their – wait, didn’t I pretty much already give this description just a couple of paragraphs ago?

The Rain-’Fro (and Other Wig-age)

Hair color is very important to some people. Some guys like blondes. Other guys don’t just like them, but actually fetishize them.

[Personally, I’ve never understood the attraction of blondes. Blonde hair is at the absolute bottom of my hierarchy of desirable hair colors. But that’s just me.]

I’ve got two personal categories of fetish-worthy hair coloration. One of those is the redhead. (Ah, the redhead . . . ) The other is unnatural hair colors.

Blue. Green. Metallic purple. Cotton-candy pink. Chrome. And so on.

If I were custom ordering myself a hot clown girl, I think her hair would be a solid color – probably either purple or pink hair – rather than the more familiar rainbow hodgepodge. Probably long and straight rather than the rainbow wig’s curls, too. Right now my brain is hollering something about pigtails. I can’t tell exactly what it’s saying over the sound of my blood rushing down to my penis.

Red Rubber Nose

The nose. So often overlooked. “You have such pretty eyes . . . you have such pretty lips . . . ” You so seldom hear, “You have such a pretty nose.”

The clown’s face, even if it’s not going for classically beautiful, does try to call attention to all of it’s features. The eyes, the mouth, and yes, even the nose.

Sometimes it’s just a dot of color on the end, traditionally red. Sometimes it’s more face paint than a just a dot. But more often than not, instead of simple make-up, it’s something else altogether.

The classic clown nose. Round. Red. Rubber.

Soft rubber, hard rubber, foam rubber . . . sometimes even plastic. Or made from a tiny crafter’s pom-pom.

It can attach to the face via spirit gum, or by an elastic band around the head, or simply hold onto the nose under it’s own power, either due to how it was built or by little clips.

(Hard red rubber ball on a band around the head . . . I wonder if I’m the only one that’s ever contemplated creating a dual purpose clown nose/ball gag for submissive clowns?)

I don’t see the clown nose as being sexy in and of itself. It’s sexy because (to me) clowns are sexy, and it’s part of the package. But, if you need me to hand you some kind of justification, well, it’s round. Round like breasts, round like little bare toes. Round is curved, and curves are sexy.

Plus, it’s red. The color of lipstick and nail polish. The traditional color of lust and passion. The color of blood, the color of life.

And, hey – some of them even ‘honk’ when you squeeze them.

Oversized Shoes (and Other Assorted Paraphernalia)

Oversized shoes. Yeah, my fantasy clown girl is the type that wears normal sized sneakers, or combat boots (or possibly just runs around naked from the ankles on downward). My foot fetish takes one look at the traditional oversized clown shoe and screams, then runs for the exit. Not something that turns me on. Not at all.

And while the whole ‘giantess’ thing is another fetish that isn’t mine, it’s another one that clowns could cater to well. A pair of words that come up time and again when referring to clown props are ‘Novelty Oversize’. The giant pair of sunglasses. The giant comb. Any of a number of items that are giant versions of normally small things, manufactured for comedy purposes.

[You’ll occasionally also find the ‘Novelty Undersize’ prop. And I, Zeitgeist the Clown, will state for the record that my personal favorite prop is my novelty undersize penis. Ha ha ha!]

Mysterious

There is a mystery to clowns. (There are actually a plethora of mysteries to clowns, but I’m going to single out and discuss two of them here, both dealing with their appearance.)

Clown white, face paint, wig, rubber nose, costume . . . the first mystery is: Who is she? Because, really, she could be anybody under all that.

Who could she possibly be? A stranger? A co-worker? A friend? An enemy? A relative? A pre-op transsexual? Virgin? Slut? Jailbait? Seven-years-married getting itchy?

Sex with a clown could be anonymous sex. It could also be one-way anonymous sex. You don’t know her, but she knows you. You don’t even know who she is, but does she know you? Is she one of the Dramatis Personae of your life? It’s a mystery.

But it’s the other mystery where I focus a lot of my clown fetish energy. The mystery of: What does a clown look like naked?

I haven’t really talked about the costume in this post, mainly because I’m trying to keep it short. But the traditional choices include the full patterned body suit, or the crazy outfit where the pants have long legs and the shirt’s got long sleeves. More often than not, clowns are found wearing gloves. So a lot of the time, the painted-up face is the only ‘exposed’ body part you see.

This makes my imagination spiral out of control. Yes, it’s possible that if I were to strip a sexy clown woman naked I’d find the same thing that I’d find if I stripped a sexy non-clown woman naked. But there are other possibilities, and that’s what I tend to focus on.

If all I can see of her unclothed body is her face, it makes me wonder if everything follows the same pattern. White face. White body? Is it just her facial skin that’s white, or is she that same hue from head to toe?

Mouth ringed with bright red. Is every major orifice? Does she have a vertical clown ‘smile’ centered over her vulva? Are her inner labia ‘pussy lips pink’, or ‘fire truck red’? And if she’s got yet another red stripe covering her anus . . . is it a separate stripe from the vaginal one, or do the two red lines converge over the perineum, becoming one?

The red rubber nose, perched upon the face’s protrusion. But the body has other protrusions, and aren’t bare breasts just crying out for red rubber clown nipples?

Then, as concerns the rainbow wig, comes the old cliché: “Do the curtains match the drapes?” Does she, in fact, have rainbow pubes?

[Years before I’d ever heard the word ‘merkin’ or discovered the notion of a pubic wig outside the bounds my own imagination I thought that I had invented/created the concept of a pubic hairpiece during my musings about clown nudity. Shave her natural pubes off, and apply her little rainbow bush with spirit gum. I was a genius, I was.]

The few other touches of face paint up above would undoubtedly lead to a larger number of body paint applications further down.

Of course, it could also be that a clown’s naked body is as different from her head as her head is from a non-clown human’s head. In which case, I can’t even begin to speculate what I might find beneath a clown’s clothing. (But man-oh-man, would I like to find out!)

But That’s Not All . . .

The hair, the make-up, the nose, the costume . . . that certainly isn’t everything. That’s by no means all there is to clowns. Nor is there all that is to the sexual, kinky, and/or fetishistic appeal of clowns.

But as I said earlier, I’m not covering everything in this post.

I’ll come back at a later point and talk more about clown fetishes. Talking about clowns as agents of chaos, about the religious significance, about BDSM use of coulrophobia as fear play, and more sub-topics than you can shake a rubber chicken at. Who knows, I might even talk about the rubber chicken.

National Masturbation Month

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Fri, 22 May 2009 20:42:00 +0000

I haven’t really blogged about anything in quite some time. Not counting the May 20th post – which was really just a list with a little bit of commentary, and I can do that in my sleep – my most recent post was over three weeks ago. And the one before that was nearly a month earlier. (Fuckin’ bronchitis.) So . . . I’m off my blogging game. Out of my blogging groove. I’m covered in blog rust. Lost my blogging chops. And so on and so forth. Seems like the perfect time for a ‘triumphant return’.

An Excuse to Touch Your Naughty Places (for 31 Days in a Row)

When asked, I’ll usually reply that my favorite holidays are Halloween and Christmas. But despite how much effort I put into costuming and how much candy I eat, regardless of how many decorations I hang and how many presents I buy, the truth of the matter is that the ‘holiday’ I end up celebrating the most is National Masturbation Month.

Why? Because the point of NMM is to masturbate, and I tend to masturbate a lot. (Not just during the month of May, either. I seem to be perpetually horny. And I have no sex partner. So I frequently find myself in the situation where erect penis meets palm of hand and . . . well, jacking off occurs.)

This is the section of the blog entry where I’d talk about the origins and history of National Masturbation Month, but . . . once again, I’m writing this from home at night. And my sole means of internet access is in the library, open only during the daytime. (Sigh.)

Previously on Time Delay . . .

I’ve talked about masturbation here in the blog before (usually simply in passing, although one time it was the subject of it’s own post). Like I said: perpetually horny with no partner. And this is a sex blog. In between musings about aspects of kink and fetish and BDSM, when it’s time to talk about my own sex life, what else am I going to say?

I’ve explained how during my junior and senior year in high school I would jack off in locked classrooms (I had keys) and in the girl’s locker room. I’ve talked about early masturbatory inspiration found in the ‘Letters to Penthouse’ section of magazines found under Dad’s side of my parent’s bed. I’ve revealed the fact that I even started masturbating to the occasional letter with gay content, once I discovered that – if I was in the right mood – they aroused me as much as the far more plentiful straight letters did.

I’ve talked about my beliefs regarding the masturbatory (and/or sexual intercourse) requirements inherent in my vision of what BDSM play should entail. I’ve mentioned age-play masturbation fantasies. I’ve recently whined about the difficulty in jacking off with lungs full of bronchitis-supplied flem (and other disgusting gooey things I kept hacking up).

I’ve mused about my desire to watch a woman masturbate with a cucumber, a banana (oh, God, yes, with a banana!), and – even though I’m aware that it’s a big no-no because of the “vagina + sugar = yeast infection” equation – one of those foot-long, inch-and-a-half thick peppermint sticks you can get during the Christmas season.

I’ve wished for specific masturbation toys (both in the previous post, and in a letter to Santa from last year.)

I’ve even discussed the masturbation habits of Benjamin J. Grimm, the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing of the Fantastic Four.

[Huh. Until I skimmed over my list of previous blog entries just now, I hadn’t realized that I talk about masturbation about as compulsively as I perform the act. Weird.]

Twitter and the Masturbation Count

While it’s taken me this long to get off my ass and write an actual blog post, I have been doing something relating to National Masturbation Month and the internet. I’ve been updating my Twitter account from my celphone. Each and every single time I’ve jacked off during the month-long event, I’ve sent out a ‘Tweet’ alerting the populace.

(Which, as I sit here writing this – the evening of May 20th – has been a total of 31 times thus far.)

I’m not telling elaborate masturbation stories or anything. With a mere 140 characters, I really can’t. I’m not explaining where I’m jacking off, and what fantasy is fueling the effort. I’m pretty much just announcing that another masturbatory act took place, and leaving it at that.

I can’t imagine what the people who have started following me this month must be thinking. 31 jack off tweets, and 1 tweet reminding people that it was the anniversary of the death of Jim Henson. Yikes. I must be mad.

Define Masturbation

Just what exactly is ‘masturbation’, anyway?

Different things to different people, I suppose. Generally, I’ve always understood it to mean manual stimulation of the genitals (usually your own, but sometimes someone else’s). Jacking off, or fingering yourself. Jacking someone off or fingering someone.

I jack off (a lot). I fingered CJ a few times, long, long ago. (Fingered her pussy, stroked her clit, caused her to make a variety of noises.)

I’ve also understood the use of sex toys to be in the ‘masturbation’ category. Fucking a rubber pussy. Fucking yourself with a dildo. Things like that.

But there are people out there for whom the definition of masturbation is pretty much any sex act that isn’t PIV intercourse. “If it ain’t fuckin’, then it’s just masturbatin’.”

So: Jacking off, fingering, use of imitation vaginas, dildos, and vibrators . . . oh, and tit-fucking, foot-jobs, blow-jobs, pussy-eating, butt-fucking, and every other orgasm-inducing NON cock-in-pussy form of sex play. All simply masturbation according to some definitions.

Masturbatory Goals

I have goals pertaining to the concept of masturbation. (Especially if the definition of the act is loose enough to incorporate any and all sex-type acts that aren’t the classic PIV fuck.)

Some of these goals are things I want to do. Others are things I officially want to do. (Yeah, there exists a list of 39 things – mostly kinky and/or sexual – I want to experience this year.) But the blog post on National Masturbation Month seems a reasonable place to talk about my masturbation goals, doesn’t it?

In absolutely no particular order: I want somebody to watch me jack off. I’ve developed these occasional exhibitionist urges, and those urges sometimes make me want a live audience while masturbating.

I also want to be a live audience (or part of same) for someone else’s solo sex activities. A masturbating woman is just unbelievably sexy. And I’d kind of like to watch a guy jack off and shoot his load, at least once.

I’m not really looking for a handjob. Oh, I’m sure that if I was aroused enough by a woman who offered me one I’d probably accept, but one of the things I learned during my encounters with CJ was that if I want to reach orgasm, the hand on my cock needs to by my experienced hand.

Fetishist that I am, however, . . . I really, really want a footjob. And I honestly don’t see that being that far off of the legitimate masturbation chart. ‘Please jack me off with your hand’ vs. ‘please jack me off with your feet’. Please jack me off with your sexy bare feet. Please jack me off with your sexy bare feet, alternating between the oh-so-soft soles and the underside of your toes with their brightly painted nails . . . huh? What? Oh, sorry. Got sidetracked for a moment.

Since we’re on the topic of the foot fetish, I should also mention that I have this fantasy of having a woman cum while I’m sucking on her toes. Now, obviously, the big cock-hardening fantasy here is to have her reach orgasm BECAUSE I’m sucking on her toes. But I’m willing to settle for a lesser scenario, which means sucking on the toes of a woman who just happens to be masturbating (or being stimulated in some other fashion). I want her to cum while I’m sucking on her toes, and when we get right down to it, it doesn’t really matter how or why the orgasm happens, just so long as it does.

I’d like to masturbate somebody else for a change. (Ideally a couple of somebody elses.) I want to slide my fingers inside of a woman and move them around in a specific manner to bring about a writhing, moaning orgasm on her part. Also (and when I say ‘also’ here, I greedily mean ‘additionally’), I’d really like the opportunity to masturbate a woman with a banana. Fuck her with the banana while playing with her clit.

Putting my fingers into a woman’s pussy counts as a form of masturbation. What about my whole hand? Is fisting masturbation? Is my burning desire to fist a woman something that should be addressed during National Masturbation Month? Something to think about, at any rate.

I’d also like to see what it’s like to jack off a cock that’s bigger than mine. It doesn’t even have to be BIG, just bigger than mine. Sadly, average size will do just fine.

Then, if we’re expanding the definition of ‘masturbation’ to include things like oral sex . . . yes, please. I’d like to finally receive some successful oral. And I’d like to learn to perform oral properly.

And if my hand is a proper masturbatory medium for jacking a guy off, then I’d like try another body part, too. My bi-curiosity insists that I wrap my lubed up asshole around some guy’s hard throbbing (condom-covered) member and ‘jack him off’ with my ass. I wouldn't mind having someone (the fantasy dictates a female, but really, how picky can I be?) jack me off with their ass, either.

The Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus

For me (and for most people, I imagine), the act of masturbation itself has a goal. That goal is orgasm.

Likewise for me, National Masturbation Month has a goal. And it’s a goal that I’ve never met. Until last year, I never even came close. But I made all the proper arrangements to meet the goal last year, only to have my plans fall through at the last moment.

The goal in question? Attending the Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon Party.

This year is her 9th annual Masturbate-a-Thon, and it’s circus themed (and me with a clown fetish and everything). The Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus takes place on the 30th of May. (More information available at www.masturbate-a-thon.org) And as of this moment, I have no ride. No way to get there.

I really want to go to this little shindig, because unlike the previous two Darklady events I attended, this one is about masturbation rather than sex. I won’t end up leaving all depressed because I was unable to find a partner. This time, even if all else fails, I AM my partner. And I’ve promised myself that I’m going to harness my occasional exhibitionist urges. If I can manage to get there, I’m going to take it out and jack it off.

The Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown

Actually, I HAVE to get there. Despite not having any means of transportation at this point, I’m practically required to go. “Why,” you ask, “Do I HAVE to go?”

Because Darklady has named me the Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown.

I’ve been planning to put together at least one (if not an actual series) of clown masks this year, mainly due to my allergy to greasepaint. As a result of being named the Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Circus Clown, I’ve now gone from thinking, “Yeah, I’ve got to look into mask making one of these days” to actually looking into mask making. I’ll be wearing a clown face at the event. At the moment, I couldn’t give you more details than that, as I don’t know them myself.

Having exhausted all of my potential modes of travel, I need to contact the Dark One herself and see if she can find a partygoer in my area that might be willing to offer a ride.

I HAVE to go. Being a circus themed event – and costing less to get in if you’re in costume – I imagine that there will be people there in clown make-up. Maybe women there in clown make-up.

Ooh.

If I can have some kind of masturbatory exchange with a female clown, that might make it the greatest night of my life. Definitely the greatest night of my sex life.

I just HAVE to go.

Speaking of which, now I have to go. It’s time to masturbate again.

This is the Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown, signing off.

ZtC's Wish List (for Ginger Leigh's Fabulous Shopping Spree Contest)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Wed, 20 May 2009 20:35:00 +0000

Last week, my trusty flash drive and I spent some time at a computer whose internet access – unlike my usual onramp to the information super highway – was free of pornography filters. My plan for that internet session had been to spend as much time as I could grabbing sex blogs to read when I got home. (And snagging the RSS feed addresses of those blogs – more on that in a future post.)

But while I did manage to grab a goodly number of naughty blog pages, there came a point at which I became distracted by a chance to win $1000 worth of sex toys.

Yeah, I found a link to this contest, where the grand prize is a thousand dollar shopping spree at sextoys.com. So, I ended up going to sextoys.com and grabbing a ridiculous shitream of pages to the old flash drive.

When I got home I went through all of my page grabs and put together my (nearly) $1000.00 wish list. The rules state that for each item I want, I’m supposed to list it’s name, a link to it on the site, and one sentence explaining why I want it. I didn’t know if writing more than one sentence per item would disqualify me, but I decided to err on the side of caution. Some of these items cried out for multiple paragraphs of my usual rambling text, but I kept everything to that minimum single sentence . . . even if some of those sentences fall under the ‘compound’ or ‘run-on’ variety.

Some of the items were chosen for their potential to help me get myself off. Others are clearly for use with a partner, which might seem odd, given that I have none. But I’m in an optimistic mood, and my thoughts on a collection of sex toys and bondage gear are this: “If you build it, she will come.” (Yeah, I know I probably should have gone for the lame pun there, spelling that last word ‘cum’. But while her orgasm is indeed implied, my focus is on getting her – whoever she turns out to be – to simply arrive in my life.)

Anyway, here’s the list:

(It Feels Weird Not to Preface This With ‘Dear Santa’)

01.) Cyberskin Pussy & Ass w/Suction ($100.89) – I have no sex partner, I’m too heavy for an inflatable doll, and I can’t afford a RealDoll, so this seems like my best bet for something to fuck – especially since it can attach to a surface, and not ‘get away’ from me during the act.

02.) Roxy Jezel’s Doggie Style Ass & Pussy ($59.99) – While this one doesn’t have suction cups, it does offer a different position from the first one on the list . . . and look, she’s holding herself open for me, how inviting!

03.) Electronic Stroke Master ($69.19) – My obsessive-compulsive brain does a weird little ‘happy dance’ at the thought of a masturbator with a read out that tells me exactly how many strokes it took me to get off.

04.) CyberSkin Power Stroker ($48.99) – A masturbator that runs off of a USB port is ingenious – I can watch computer porn with my pants around my ankles and get off without even wasting batteries!

05.) Wallbanger Masturbator ($46.49) – Johnny Dirtnap (not his real name) used to occasionally tell me that I didn’t need a girlfriend as much as I needed a rubber vagina that I could just suction-cup to a wall, and, well . . . here one is.

06.) Up/Down Anal Pleaser ($51.89) – Being curious about anal sex (and having no male or strap-on equipped females interested in helping me satisfy that curiosity), finding a toy that “simulate(s) real anal!” is at the very least a step in the right direction.

07.) Feeldoe Slim ($104.49) – Of course, if I could find a female interested in helping me with my anal curiosity, having one of these in my toy collection might be just the enticement she needs to bend me over.

08.) Nipple Clamps Alligator With Chain – Black ($20.19) – I love nipples, and my ‘ideal fantasy woman’ will certainly want lots of nipple play, so owning some clamps is a given.

09.) Clover Nipple Clamps ($27.19) – And since having just the one set of nipple clamps might get boring after awhile, owning an interesting looking piece of hardware like this would be good for variety.

10.) Deluxe Leather Bondage Kit ($48.89) – I can’t tie a legitimate knot to save my life, so I really need a decent set of restraints – and a kit like this that comes with leather cuffs for all four limbs looks like it’s just what the bondage doctor ordered.

11.) Gator Restraints – Ball Gag ($22.19) – My thoughts on the use of gags in bondage won’t fit within a single sentence, but I will say this: If I’m going to gag someone, the gag in question has to at the very least have the kind of airholes that this one does.

12.) Leash and Collar Set ($26.89) – I’ve seen Doms walking their subs at KinkFest, and I always think, “Someday, that will be me with my hand on a submissive’s leash.”

13.) Thumbcuffs ($2.89) – I used to have a set of these about ten years ago, but they disappeared – and thus, need to be replaced.

14.) Bling Bling Finger Cuffs ($23.19) – Finger cuffs on a longer chain . . . hmm . . . finger to finger, toe to toe, finger to toe . . . all sorts of kinky possibilities.

15.) Leather Slut Paddle ($34.89) – The thought of spanking a bare female ass is always a turn on, and if it’s a slut’s bare ass, then why not label it as such?

16.) Rubber Whip 22 inch – Black ($30.49) – I also want to play around with bare female flesh and the classic whip/flogger type thing.

17.) Vibrating Banana ($25.99) – I’d like a vibrator in case a naughty woman comes into my life, and I have a weird little fetish for ‘bananas as penetration toys’, so this product is a no-brainer for my want list.

18.) Color Me Sexy Body Crayons ($5.49) – And while we’re on the subject of odd fetishes, since I also fantasize about writing all over a woman’s bare skin, this seems like another decent product to have in my possession.

19.) Pony Play – Medium ($34.49) – Never had any real exposure to pony play, but I’ve always thought that these butt-plugs with tails were just ridiculously sexy.

20.) Glow in the Dark Self-Examiner ($10.89) – Because I hope to get to peek inside someone someday.

21.) Liquid Latex Black 16 oz ($18.49) – I’ve always wanted to play around with liquid latex, but never wanted to spend real money on it in case it turned out that I was allergic to the stuff, like I am with greasepaint (and make-up, and soap, and all that other stuff that makes me break out in hives).

22.) Liquid Latex Purple 16 oz ($18.49) – Of course, even if I’M allergic to liquid latex, I’m a big enough geek/nerd that oddly colored women turn me on (think She-Hulk green, or the Star Wars rainbow of Twi’leks), so I’d like to slather some onto a potential play partner for kinky and geeky fetish purposes.

23.) Kimono Regular 48 Pack ($46.99) – Years ago, when looking for a condom that fit me, I discovered that the Kimono brand was the one least likely to fall off like a pair of baggy clown pants.

24.) Safe Sex Kit ($8.99) – When I finally find that person out there who’s eager to have sex with me, it needs to be safe sex (the safer the better), so this little thingamabob seems a worthwhile addition to the condom on my little thingamabob.

25.) Endurance Flavored Condoms 3Pk-Banana ($3.19) – My bi-curiosity seems to think that I’ll end up sucking a cock at least once, and with safety a necessity, ‘banana’ seems a better flavor than ‘lubricated’.

26.) Latex Dental Dam ($2.49) – At the moment, I very much want to go down on a woman, and that means trying to figure out how this piece of safety equipment works.

27.) Lick A Lot A Puss ($18.99) – Hands-free technology comes to cunnilingus . . . and since I’m worried enough about fumbling around with a dental dam, this harness-thingy seems like an easier solution than getting an extra set of arms grafted on to hold her open.

28.) Sex! Card Game ($6.89) – Having missed out on the whole high-school/college party thing, I never got to play any sex games (drunken or otherwise, with either a single partner or a small crowd of horny perverts), and it’s something I’d love to do if the opportunity ever presented itself.

29.) Naughty Paradice ($7.49) – I’m a gamer (I’ve played D&D since 1980 or so) and with there already being running jokes among my friends about my big bag of dice, I figure why not start a naughty bag of sex dice?

30.) Strip Dice ($15.49) – In all honesty, I always figured that I’d have more patience with ‘Strip Cut-the-Deck-for-High-Card’ than I would for a game of ‘Strip Poker’, but a strip dice game like this might be exactly my speed.

31.) Let’s Fool Around Dice ($9.49) – A handful of dice and a group of like-minded perverts, and away we go!

32.) Noveltease Spicy Dice ($6.89) – Looking at the picture of this, I find myself wondering if ‘Suck My Toes’ is a possible result?

33.) Oral Sex Dice For Him ($7.49) – I like dice, oral sex looks fun, and I’m a ‘him’, so . . . yeah.

34.) Oral Sex Dice For Her ($7.49) – And if I can find a ‘her’ that likes dice and the prospect of oral sex, well, so much the better!

35.) Nude Female Playing Cards ($3.49) – I like cards, I like looking at nude females . . . another no-brainer.

36.) Sexy Spinner Fetish ($4.49) – Lots of uses here, but just to pick one, if I had a ‘spin the wheel, pick a fetish’ apparatus, I could probably start my own blog meme.

37.) Mr. & Mrs. Santa Having Sex Gift Wrap ($4.99) – Just in case I have to wrap a present for someone on Santa’s other naughty list.

38.) Mardi Gras Pecker Beads ($6.89) – In case I’m ever at a Mardi Gras themed party: “. . . breasts are round, normal beads are round, so that makes an even trade – but these beads are genital shaped, so if you’ll just show me your pussy . . .”

39.) Female Shot Glass ($4.49) – The nude female form is ever a thing of beauty, whether simply as a knick-knacky object d’art, or holding a shot of vodka.

40.) Wind Up Masturbating Monkey ($10.99) – Okay, if you really don’t understand the desire to own this fine looking product, let me refer you back to it’s name (“Wind Up Masturbating Monkey!”) and you should realize that EVERYONE needs one of these . . . it’s a wind-up masturbating monkey, for cryin’ out loud!

Grand Total: $997.20. Want to put together your own wish list? Check out the details for Ginger Leigh’s Fabulous Shopping Spree.

The Entry's Not Late If the Name of the Blog is "Time Delay"

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 20:45:00 +0000

Okay. I went to KinkFest. I returned home with a plethora of partially formed, completely unwritten blog posts swarming around in my head. New ideas. Odd realizations. All sorts of things to write about. Not least of which was the event itself.

I returned home, and instead of going immediately to the keyboard to start cranking out material for the blog, I instead sat in my chair and napped. Attending the event had tired me out.

I rested up for a handful of days, and about the time I was ready to sit down at the keyboard and get some blog posts put together . . . I got sick.

As I sit here writing this, I’m still sick. It is currently day 24 of the bronchitis plague. (Yes, bronchitis is now a plague.) My lungs currently contain no air, but many rolls of barbed wire, all manner of flem and flem-like substances, and the fossilized remains of many a bronchitisaurus.

Doctors have stuffed me full of prednisone, azithromyacin, and two different forms of albuterol (using two different delivery devices). Not counting whatever they injected into me at the ER, and the medication that was in the two bottles that I threw away once empty and can’t remember the names of.

I am dying. Sadly, I’m only dying at the same rate that I was before I contracted bronchitis. You know, the “everybody dies” / “we’re all dying from the moment of birth” speed. If I was dying much, much quicker, then this fucking bronchitis would soon be over.

Masturbronchitis (or Bronchitisturbation)

Having bronchitis makes it difficult to perform the usual sexual maintenance on myself. It’s a little weird trying to take matters in hand (so to speak) when the sexual urges hit – because attempts at masturbation tend to send me into a coughing fit. Or make me stop breathing altogether.

Pants and underwear down around my ankles, me on my knees on a bath towel, my cock in my hand . . . and coughing hard for a good minute or so until everything goes black and I fear that I’ll pass out. Yeah, that would be a good position to pass out in, wouldn’t it?

Since I’m obviously not going to go nearly a month without performing the act that can be described using a clever euphemism for masturbation (although I’m currently far too tired to think of a good euphemism for masturbation to use here), I have still been jacking off. But not nearly as often as I would normally be. And when I have been managing it, it’s been in a weird and awkward position with my back against the wall to maximize my limited ability to breathe. It’s almost not worth it.

We’ve got less than a week until the 1st of May. The start of National Masturbation Month. If I don’t get well soon, I may have to postpone my NMM celebration plans. (I planned to jack off all month. How does that differ from most months, you ask? Well, it . . . uh . . . hmm . . . shut up!)

Better, Worse, or the Same?

A couple of days ago I thought that I might actually have been getting better. Stupid, stupid me. There was a day or so where I started feeling better, but that soon reversed itself.

Now I’m coughing just as hard as I was at the height of my misery. Which doesn’t fill me with joy. (Flem, yes. Joy, no.)

I keep getting asked questions like, “Good God, man, aren’t you better yet?” The answer to which is no, no I’m not.

I keep having to stop and explain what the ID (Immune Dysfunction) in CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome) means. Then patiently explain why that means that I’ve been sick for over three weeks, with no end in sight.

I don’t know. I either have less patience when I’m sick, or everybody I know is a moron. (I’m guessing it’s a little of both, to varying degrees depending on the person.)

Where the Fuck is the Internet?

Once or twice a week, I end up calling someone, giving them the password to one of my email accounts, and having them read a few key pieces of email to me over the phone.

Yeah, that’s really not how the internet is supposed to work.

I’ve also gotten one flash-drive’s worth of ‘internet care package’ of site grabs (webcomics, needed wikipedia research runs, a handful of stories off of literotica.com, and other miscellaneous stuff).

But I’m pretty much at the point now where I’m going to explode if I don’t get to sit down at an internet-equipped computer soon and access this stuff on my own.

I’m planning on a trip up to the library tomorrow. (Getting a ride, not walking. I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to walk that far at this point.) That trip should see me putting this post up on my blog. Then checking two of my email accounts (both of which are now threatening to sink to the bottom of the internet due to the weight of the unread e-mails filling their holds), and then hitting the ‘SAVE PAGE AS’ option on a ridiculous number of websites. Oh, and coughing. It’s not part of the plan, but I expect to do lots of coughing while sitting there. I wonder if I’ll get shushed by the librarians?

The Current Pox, Blight, and Stone Around My Neck

I’m a phrase guy. I love dialogue and phraseology. So, I quote things. I mean, why be like everyone else and say, “Dude, that’s not cool” when you can say, “Then you are now my sworn enemy.” Or sleepily slur the words “Good morning” at whoever just woke you up when instead you can defensively scream, “Drugs are good for me!” (which got a huge laugh from my brother the first time I hit him with it.)

Anyway . . .

“He is a pox. A blight. A stone around my neck.” I love this one. I try not to overuse it, so that when I talk about something being the pox, blight, and stone, they know that it’s something that’s really, seriously weighing down upon me. (And strangely enough, it usually refers to an incomplete piece of writing.)

Once I started the Age Play series – and then got stalled for a number of reasons – it was a pox, blight, and stone. In fact, I think I may have even referenced it having been a stone around my neck when I wrote the final installment.

Currently, the KinkFest Report is a pox. A blight. A stone around my neck.

The blog wants it next. (Am I attributing sentience to inanimate objects again? Perhaps.) But my brain wants me to write different things. My brain moved on long ago. I’m writing this post a MONTH after the day before KinkFest. (Hopefully I’ll be posting it a month after the first day of the event.) That’s a long time to expect my brain to focus on one topic.

I’ve considered just skipping it and not doing a KinkFest Report. But there are two reasons why I really can’t do that. The first is the whole Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder thing. I’ve been planning to write a KinkFest Report ever since I decided to attend the event again this year. Being able to blog about the event was one of the elements that factored into my decision to attend. So while my creative brain has already moved past the KinkFest Report, my Obsessive-Compulsive brain won’t let me not write it. (Stupid, stupid brain.)

The other reason why I can’t skip it is because a lot of the blog entries I do want to sit at the keyboard and write will reference things that happened (or specifically didn’t happen) at KinkFest. And it really seems like it would be more effective to tell all my little KinkFest stories during the KinkFest report and just refer back to that than it would to keep having to stop in the middle of a bunch of posts to tell the relevant anecdotes or each basis for revelation.

Dealing With the Pox, Blight, Stone, and Whatnot

The KinkFest Report might be next. But it’s not actually on the schedule as ‘next’, it’s on the schedule as being ‘ASAP’. Right now the schedule is remarkably non-schedule looking.

And with three days worth of event to cover within said report, it may end up being more than a single post. These posts, I warn you now, may not be consecutive.

There are – according to the current list – twenty-six posts that I really want to sit down and write. None of these are the KinkFest Report. So if the KinkFest Report does end up being multiple posts long, I might ‘reward’ myself with completing a chunk of it by writing and posting something else in between installments of the other. .

Anyway, once the KinkFest Report is over and done with (and away from around-my-neck), then the blog should get back to a normal. You’ll notice I said ‘a normal’, not ‘the normal’. I’ve been thinking about a whole new ‘normal’ for the blog. Doing things a little differently.

But that’s a whole other discussion.

Plus, it’s really hard to type with all this coughing.

Still asleep, still brain dead

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 21:59:00 +0000

For those of you awaiting my KinkFest report . . .

I'm still recovering from the event. Not so much, "I partied so hard I wore myself out" but "I was walking from workshop to workshop for three days with no naps, and thus wore myself out (stupid CFIDS!)".

The current plan is to get the report written this weekend, posted by Monday, and then return the blog to it's normal selection of topics shortly thereafter.

And this was another short post for those of you who have complained about the 5,000 - 6,000 word posts I've been known to crank out. Hope you enjoyed it.

The Road to KinkFest - 3 Days and Counting

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 20:11:00 +0000

A few miscellaneous updates, and more KinkFest stuff. Whee!

The Bed Update

My back is adjusting nicely to the change between having spent the past three months sleeping in the chair to now sleeping on the ‘new’ bed. Oh, it’s by no means in 100% tip-top shape or anything, but I’d’ve been surprised if it had been. All things considered, though, and like I said – it’s adjusting nicely.

Yeah, my BACK isn’t the problem that I’m having with the bed.

The first night I had it, I took my bucketful of pills (including the pills that pretty much knock me out for the night), laid down, and went to sleep. I woke up a couple of hours later in the midst of a hellacious allergy attack. I couldn’t breathe, my head was filled with snot (and pounding more than usual), and I was covered in hives. Lovely.

The next night I layered extra blankets between me and the bed, and took allergy pills before bedtime.

It was the day after that when my brother called and asked how the new bed was working out for me. I tell him how my back is handling it, and then tell him my allergy story. When I finish, there’s dead silence on the other end. I actually check the display to make sure that one of us didn’t drop the call. So, I ask if he’s still there, and he says, “Shit. I wasn’t even thinking.”

Now, up until this point, I had assumed that I was having a really bad reaction to his cats (whom wander his house unfettered, shedding wherever they please). But my brother informs me otherwise.

“Yeah, uh – that’s not actually our old mattress and box-spring,” he tells me. They’d had such a problem getting their bed up the staircase and into the upstairs bedroom when they first moved in, that when his wife’s parents offered them their old bed, they decided to take only what was easily movable. So, the bed frame, headboard, footboard, and other similar disassemble-able stuff went up the stairs. They kept their old mattress and box-spring. I got my brother’s old bed frame, and his in-law’s old mattress and box-spring.

And the problem with that was that . . . “Yeah, they let their dogs sleep in the bed with them.”

So, I’m now allergic to my bed. I’m told that there’s a special allergen-formula Febreeze, which I’ll be getting myself a bottle of in early April. And living on allergy pills until then. (And possibly even after. Hell, possibly ever after.)

That OTHER March 27th – 29th Convention in Portland

Okay, so, I’m up at the library the other day, and I discover something that nearly short-circuits my hair. All of a sudden I’m just staring blankly into the monitor, mumbling, “There’s a WHAT?! convention in Portland? And I’m finding out about it HOW LONG?! before it happens? And it’s going on fucking WHEN?!”

Yeah, the three days that I’ll be in Portland at KinkFest, the same city is also hosting something called BrickFest, which is a convention for ‘Adult Fans of LEGO’.

Workshops, presentations, special events, building challenges, and so on. Three days of all things LEGO. The last day of the convention doubles as an open-to-the-general-public LEGO Expo.

[There will apparently even be a display of space ships (original designs built by fans as well as reproductions of ships from popular science fiction shows like Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica, and so on) that have been ‘Reavered-out’ (bloodily modified by the Reavers from the Firefly/Serenity Universe).]

Yes, if I had been given the choice ahead of time, I’m 99% certain that I’d still be attending KinkFest. Hoping to play with wooden paddles and bare asses, duct tape, wrists, and ankles instead of plastic click-together blocks.

But why, oh why, couldn’t they have been on different weekends (and the follow-up questions, why couldn’t I have had enough money to attend them both if they had)?

Year 39 Uberlist – Notice of Delay of Update

Yesterday was March 23rd. Which means that I’m a quarter of the way through year 39 of my life.

That would make this the ideal time to do a post updating my progress through the Year 39 Uberlist. 39 Things to Do in Year 39

But I’m going to hold off on that, for two reasons. One is that I’ve only managed to accomplish two of the things on the list so far (and both of those thing have been accomplished using the absolute bare minimum possible to garner a checkmark), and so an analysis of the list right now would be really, really depressing. The other reason is that KinkFest happens at the end of the week, and I’m really hoping to be able to put some more checkmarks on the list during the event.

So if anyone was actually expecting an update on this about now – you’re going to have to wait a week or so.

I Had a Dream About Being Just a Little Bit Famous

I dreamt that I went to KinkFest, and several people (usually hot female-type people) noticed the name on my convention badge, and said things like, “Oh my God! You’re Zeitgeist the Clown! I love your blog!” They’d then go on to ask for an autograph (usually on a body part), or ask me to pose for a photo with them.

This happened with increasing frequency throughout the course of the event. I had sweet young things tell me that they were attending the convention BECAUSE they knew I’d be there and they wanted to meet me. I had a plethora of offers to play with people, in addition to several offers to retreat to a hotel room for a more intimate sort of ‘play’.

(Of course, my stupid brain actually skipped over dreaming about any actual BDSM scenes or sexual activity, just like it always does.)

I apparently even engaged in some kind of hot tub group sex thing. (I dreamt getting into the hot tub with several women, and then I dreamt getting out and getting dressed after wild sex had occurred. My sex dreams are all edited for television or something.)

It was a nice dream. I liked it. And I think that it’s now my new goal for next year’s KinkFest. To be a weird little rock-star like internet personality that women throw themselves at during a 3-day long BDSM event.

MY KinkFest Schedule

Just in case anyone wants to get a jump on the eventual crowd by seeking me out THIS year before I’m wildly famous (OW! I was sarcastically rolling my eyes, and it made my headache worse. Dagnabbit!), I thought I’d let you know where I’m planning to be at certain times during the event.

Zorch is supposed to drop me off at the hotel somewhere in the neighborhood of 2:30 or 3:00 pm on Friday. (3:00, conveniently enough, being check-in time). That gives me time to find (and finally meet) my roommate for the weekend, get checked in, dump my luggage on the floor, claim a bed, and all the usual stuff.

The registration desk opens at 4:00 (as does the vendor’s area and the dungeon), so the plan is to get my badge and then go see what’s all for sale. I’ll check out what the vendors all have, then go see this year’s dungeon lay-out.

I’ll also need to find the volunteer coordinator, and find out if there’s info that I need prior to my first volunteer shift early on Saturday.

Return to the dungeon: I’ll be on the look-out for someone who might be in search of a play partner. And if I don’t find one, then – assuming that other people will be using the equipment already – I’ll wander around the dungeon watching the various activities.

The dungeon closes for a half hour at 6:30 to prepare for opening ceremonies, which will probably send me through the vendor’s area on my way back to my hotel room. (Sandwich? Quite possibly.)

I’ll return in time for the opening ceremonies, and when they reopen the dungeon for play afterwards, I’ll either play or watch. If nothing exciting is going on, I may ditch the dungeon for a while and go soak in the hot tub. Who knows? The dungeon is open until 1:00, and if I remember correctly, the hotel chases people out of the hot tub at 11:00. So there’ll still be dungeon opportunities post-hot tub, if I choose to snag some hot water time on Friday.

At some point, I’ll return to my hotel room and crash for the night. (Probably earlier than my usual 3:00 or 4:00 am, simply so that I’m up and about long before my usual 11:00 am – 1:00 pm window.)

Once I’ve gotten up on Saturday morning and made myself presentable, I’ll undoubtedly need to locate some form of breakfast. I’ve heard rumors about a concession style breakfast for convention attendees.

I’m serving as workshop monitor for “Fisting and Footing” from 10:00 to 11:30. I’ll probably need to check in somewhere with one of the alpha volunteer monkeys beforehand.

My next shift as workshop monitor is for “THWACK – Understanding Impact Play” from 1:00 to 2:30. Between the first and second workshops, I may be hitting the lunch buffet and checking out the presenter ‘Meet and Greet’. But if I’m extremely lucky, I will have found someone in the first workshop interested in putting what she just learned into practice. I want to go to the dungeon and slowly bury my fingers up to the wrist in a willing fisting partner.

Anyway, after “THWACK” I’m ‘free’ for the rest of the day. I’m sure that I’ll obsessive-compulsively check out the vendor’s area again. Search the dungeon for potential play partners. Tour the dungeon watching the BDSM action. There WILL be hot tub time on Saturday afternoon, I have promised myself this. By myself if need be. With a friendly female if things go well.

The dungeon once again closes at 1:00 am.

Sunday looks like it will start out much the same as Saturday will. I’ll be attending (although not monitoring) a workshop from 10:00 to 11:30 (The Art of Flagellation). Then monitoring “Let Your Beast Out” from 1:00 – 2:30. With probably stops before and between for food. And to check out of the room.

The last workshop of the event is from 3:00 – 4:30 on Sunday, and for me, that will be “Strapping-On and Getting Off”. (The dungeon closes at 4:00, and it’s probably a good thing . . . because otherwise I’d probably try to convince one of the strap-on wielding women at the workshop to have their way with me in the half hour before end-of-event. Unless I can satisfy my curiosity with a strap-on wielding woman earlier in the weekend, that it.)

Zorch should arrive somewhere around 5:00 to play chauffer and take me back home again.

Of course, with the exception of the three workshops I’m monitoring on the volunteer schedule, EVERYTHING is subject to change. I’ve been messaging a handful of people on FetLife that I’m trying to arrange to meet at KinkFest, for conversations if nothing else (although I think that I might be getting the opportunity to do some toe sucking, too).

But if someone wants to set a specific time for meeting, playing, letting me take some naughty photos (away from the dungeon where photography is forbidden), or anything else, well . . . I’ll definitely give priority to that rather than my otherwise scheduled “wandering around”.

Three days left. Yikes.

The Road to KinkFest - 5 Days and Counting

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 01:48:00 +0000

Getting close now. I can feel it. Today is Sunday. KinkFest starts on Friday.

I’m pumped. Both figuratively and literally. (And by literally, I mean that I recently ‘pumped’ myself while fantasizing about things that I’d like to have happen to me at the event.

The Wishlist

So many things I want to do at KinkFest.

I want to learn new things. There are 27 workshops. A KinkFest member can attend as many as six of them. I’m planning on attending at least five.

I want to pick up some new stuff. Maybe a book or two. Possibly some bondage gear. I’d really like to get a flogger, if I can find a decent one within my extremely limited budget.

I want to meet people. I want to make new friends inside the local BDSM community. Exchange FetLife names for ‘friending’ after the event. Make contacts. Network. Whatever.

There was something else . . . what was it? . . . something else I wanted to do at KinkFest . . .

Oh, yeah. Now I remember. I want to go into the dungeon and find people to play with. I want to indulge a number of BDSM fantasies. I want to make up for my dismal wallflower-like performance at last year’s KinkFest. I want to play.

Not Exactly a Checklist

This isn’t exactly a checklist. I’m not trying to participate in each and every activity that I have listed. Would I be ecstatically happy if I ended up doing so? Oh, Good Lord and Butter, YES! But it seems a little unlikely. I’m trying very hard to not constantly think about this stuff, so that my brain doesn’t spiral me into depression if none of it happens.

It’s also not a checklist in this way: If I end up sucking on some sexy bare toes on Friday night, and then receive an offer to have another sex of sexy bare toes in my mouth on Saturday, I’m not going to refuse on the grounds that, “I’ve already put a checkmark next to that item, sorry. Now I’m trying to find someone to let me spank them.” No, I will instead suck on those new toes, and hope that maybe a third (and possibly fourth and fifth) set shows up before event’s end.

Dungeon Activities

I really, really, really, really, really want to fist somebody. (Vaginal fisting. Not anal fisting. The concept of putting my whole large hand inside someone’s anal cavity not only makes me worry about literally splitting the poor person in half, but also doesn’t really do anything for me, fetish-wise. Finger goes in ass. Cock goes in ass. Tongue would go in ass if not for health concerns. An entire hand does not go in ass.)

(During the first workshop period of the event, one of the options is “Fisting and Footing”. And my volunteer schedule has me serving as workshop monitor for that, guarding the doorway to keep out anyone who isn’t a convention attendee. I wonder if I’d get in trouble for not allowing anyone to leave until somebody agreed to accompany me to the dungeon and spread their legs for me, to practice what we’d just learned?)

I like nipples. More to the point, I like pinching nipples. This was one of the staples of my physical relationship with CJ, way back when. Pinching her nipples very hard, and only letting go when I could sense that she was about to ask me to stop.

I want to find some nice, pinchable nipples at KinkFest – pinchable nipples attached to a woman who will grant me the necessary permission to pinch them. Not just a drive-by (walk-by?), reach out and pinch, and then go on my merry way kind of thing. No, I want to find someone who will let me put in a little bit of time torturing her nipples with my fingertips. Maybe even someone who will let me bind her first.

And speaking of bondage . . .

I want to tie a woman up. (Actually, I can’t tie a knot to save my life. I’ll be bringing a roll or two of duct tape with me for bondage purposes, but ‘I want to tape a woman up’ doesn’t put the same picture in your head. And, ‘I want to find a woman who brought her own wrist- and ankle-cuffs with her and use those to put her into bondage’ is kind of awkward. So, despite it’s inaccuracies, I’m going to continue using the phrase ‘I want to tie a woman up’.)

I want to tie a woman up. Bondage is probably the oldest (and possibly most powerful) of my various BDSM fantasies. It turns me on something fierce, and KinkFest seems a likely place to find someone to accommodate these desires of mine. (Or at least, a more likely place than anywhere else I ever get to go.)

I’m almost certain that someone at KinkFest needs a spanking. Probably several someones. The question is, can I find one (or more) of these potential spankees before their asses are claimed by all the other would-be spankers? I’m hoping so. Since my experience with impact play at last year’s event was sadly situated away from the fleshy posterior, I’m really hoping to get to put paddle to bare ass. (Or bare hand to bare ass. Whatever. I’m not picky.)

I’ve got the one paddle (again, purchased at last year’s event). I may pick up another spanking and/or general impact implement this year. I’m really hoping to find a woman who will let me use these little spanking toys for the purpose to which they were designed.

(Now, if I were to find myself in a situation where a play partner wanted both bondage and spanking, well, so much the better.)

And if I do end up purchasing my first flogger, well, I’ll want to try it out as well, won’t I?

I’ll be bringing some Crayola washable markers to the event with me, in the hopes of finding a woman who will let me write things on her skin. Labeling body parts. (“Tits”. “Pussy”. “Sexy Suckable Toes”.) Writing instructions. (“Suck this”. “Lick here”. “Spank me!”) Possibly other, more humiliating and degrading things. (“I’m a dirty slut”. “Cum Dumpster”. “Every hole in my body is a cunt”.)

Body writing isn’t the only fetish I’ve got, and I’m hoping to indulge some of the others at KinkFest as well. I’ve got some bizarre fetishes (like being incredibly aroused by girls named Molly, Stephanie, or Jane). And I’ve got more mundane fetishes (like my fondness for the bare female foot).

While FetLife tells me that there will be at least a couple of women in attendance whose name (or FetLife screen name, at least) is some variant of Stephanie, it’s probably more likely that I’ll encounter someone willing to let me play with their sexy bare feet.

I want to suck on some toes. Find a willing woman and suck on her toes, lick her soles. I’d also jump at the chance to get my first foot job. Lay back as a woman jacked me off with her feet. Or be more active in the encounter, and take hold of her ankles and actually fuck her feet. Either way, the thought of being brought to orgasm by a pair of soft sexy peds – and shooting my load on them at the end – is another one of these long-held fantasies of mine that I’d love to see actually happen.

The last workshop period of the event hosts a class on strap-on play. Which means that it’s likely that there will be women at the event with dildos and harnesses. Possibly wandering around the dungeon with their ‘dicks’ hanging out. And since I’m curious about what it feels like to be the recipient of anal sex . . . I wouldn’t mind it at some point I ended up bent over with some strap-on equipped woman’s dildo sliding in and out of my ass.

BDSMI

Awhile back, I posted a piece entitled “BDSMI”, about separating and/or integrating sex and BDSM play.

(The term BDSMI – my subtle variant on/addition to the classic BDSM – stands for Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, Sadism and Masochism, Masturbation and Intercourse.)

I like BDSM. I want to get into BDSM. But the scenes and play parties and dungeon encounters that I fantasize about (and have always fantasized about) are more BDSMI than just plain BDSM. To me, BDSM is a sexual thing.

I’m not saying that once I have a woman tied up, I want to drop my pants and ram my cock into her. Or force her to suck my cock before I untie her. (Although, if she’s into any of that, and brings it up during the scene negotiation . . . )

But personally, when I think about BDSM activities, I see finger-fucking my play partner to be just as much a staple as bondage or spanking.

Like I said, bondage has always been a big fantasy of mine. And combining it with other aspects of BDSM, kink, and fetish just makes sense. Tie her up and spank her. Tie her up and torture her nipples. Tie her up and write on her with markers. But there are women out there who don’t like the spanking, or the nipple torture, or the body writing – but who do like the bondage. So, it’s tie her up and . . . then what?

Bondage strictly for it’s own sake seems anticlimactic. Classically, the point of restraining a woman is to take advantage of her. It’s tie her up and fuck her. Tie her up and force your cock into her mouth. Tie her up and tickle her until she pees.

I want to tie her up and finger her. I’d be happy to tie her up and finger her. (I’d be ecstatic if I could tie her up, finger her, and make her cum.)

So in addition to finding women with BDSM desires that are complementary to mine, I also want them willing (ideally eager, but I’ll settle for willing) to let me finger-fuck them during play. (And a big bonus for me if she’ll consent to being fingered in either hole.)

Sexual Encounters

I’d like a little bit of sexual activity with my BDSM play. But outside of BDSM play, I’d really just like to have some sex.

(Yeah, I’m back to bitching about my ever-present virginity again.)

I’m 38 years old, and still a virgin. I fear that if I don’t have sex soon, I’m going to explode. I am therefore looking for someone willing to let me fuck them.

I’ve never had sex. I’ve never had a blow job. I’ve never even had a hand job that I didn’t administer to myself. I want ‘sex’, and I’ll take whatever sexual experience I can get.

And my earlier mention of wanting to find a strap-on equipped woman to fuck me in the ass? I see getting butt-fucked by a woman as a possibility because with there being that strap-on sex workshop, I feel it’s plausible that there will be women there with strap-ons.

On the other hand, I’m almost certain that the men in attendance will have brought their cocks along. And if an opportunity presents itself for me to get butt-fucked by a real, flesh-and-blood (condom-covered) cock, then I may well begin to find some answers to the whole question of my potential bi-curiosity.

“Let’s Go Back to My Room”

Ideally, someone will take me back to their room (or accept an invitation back to mine) for some kind of sexual encounter. Although, to be perfectly honest, if an exhibitionist was willing to take my virginity on the condition that we did it in the middle of the dungeon under a spotlight, then I’d be having my first sex in public.

But there are other things that I’d like to do with someone back in a hotel room (mine or theirs). Things that simply aren’t allowed in the dungeon.

Two main ones spring to mind. The first of those being photography.

Cameras aren’t allowed in the dungeon. So I can take a woman to the dungeon, strip her naked, tie her up, beat her bare ass until it turns bright red, and then write all over her body with washable markers. But I can’t take pictures of that end result.

I really want some body writing photos. (I really want bondage photos, too, but these will be people that have just met me, and I’m sure that there will be trust issues about being alone in a hotel room with me, naked and bound.) I want all manner of nude photos.

So I’m hoping that I can convince someone to let me play erotic photographer outside the dungeon.

Another thing that’s not allowed in the dungeon is watersports. So I’d kind of like to bring a woman to the bathroom of one of the hotel rooms, have her stand naked in the tub, and pee on her.

You’ll note that I said ‘I’d kind of like’ in the above example. What I’d really like – what I really want to experience, more and more the longer I think about it – is for me to be the one naked in the bathtub. And for her to be the one peeing on me.

Hell, the current fantasy scenario in my head has me finding a bunch of women into watersports, and getting them all in the same hotel bathroom with me at some point. Satisfy my initial watersports curiosity by getting peed on by a dozen women.

Six Things from a List of Thirty-Nine

One of my first posts this year was “39 Things to Do in Year 39”, in which I talked about the list of things (mostly sexual) that I wanted to accomplish this year. Most of the stuff I’ve already talked about here on my KinkFest wishlist are represented on the ‘39 Things’ list as well.

Here are six other goals from the ‘39 Things’ list that I’d be just thrilled if my 2009 KinkFest experience could fulfill for me.

The fourth item on the list is ‘Participate in a Group Sex Scene’. I’m keeping the definition of group sex intentionally vague. If someone invites me back to a room party after the dungeon closes for the night to participate in an orgy, well, that will obviously count. So would a simple threesome. It would also count if I simply fingered a woman who was performing oral sex on someone else.

Number #6 on the list is ‘Participate in Mutual Masturbation or Performance Masturbation’. Mutual masturbation means getting a handjob, or fingering someone to orgasm. (Or both at the same time.) Technically, I suppose I could qualify by giving a handjob. And performance? That’s either watching someone masturbate, or masturbating for someone. (Ideally, masturbating onto someone.)

Number #7 reveals another odd little fetish of mine. ‘Penetrate a Woman With a Banana’. That’s right – I want to use a banana as a dildo on a woman. Have her spread her legs for me so that I can fuck her with the traditional piece of monkey fruit. (I plan on bringing a couple of bananas to the event with me.)

Number #19 – ‘Dom/Top For a Humiliation Scene’. I want to find a woman into erotic humiliation, and do stuff to her that will make her cringe with glee.

I have no illusions about my physical form. Even if I can’t find an unpartnered woman for humiliation games, I think that I’d be an ideal humiliation tool for an already partnered up couple. A shrewd dom could make interesting use of me, going as far as letting me co-top a scene. Ordering his submissive to submit to a 450 lb man when she’s not into the BHM thing at all? Being ordered to perform cock worship on someone who is – uh, shall we say less than well hung?

I don’t think that I’d have any problems being used to make someone else squirm with humiliation.

Number #36 is ‘Keep a Pair of Panties as a Souvenir’. You might have noticed that some of the things on my list are things that involve a woman stripping naked (or me stripping a woman naked) before the serious play begins. Or at least partially naked. Fisting. Nude bondage. Sex.

Does it seem likely to me that a woman is going to want to casually part with expensive fetishwear or lingerie? Probably not, no. But . . . I don’t run into a lot of disrobing women in my life. So, if I do end up playing with a woman who ends up naked during play, I’ll probably ask the question before she puts her panties back on again.

Especially if the miracle happens and I end up losing my virginity during KinkFest. Because I think that I really want to keep the panties worn by the woman who finally turned me fully sexually active.

And finally – I can’t explain why this last one is so important to me, but it is. Number #39 on the list: ‘Play in a Hot Tub’.

I love hot tubs. Absolutely love them. I’ve only been in a hot tub on a handful of occasions, all of which have been in a hotel during a convention. But being immersed in that much hot water (enough for me to float in) has been the only times since 1995 that my back hasn’t actively hurt.

I want to be in a hot tub with a woman. And I want to fool around with her. Since the hot tub at the hotel isn’t the most private place in the world, I’m not talking about nude hot tubbing, with all of the potential licking, sucking, fingering, and so on that would be possible in a less public body of water. But some subtle groping now and then. Furtive movements of hands below the water line. Maybe a finger slipped inside the crotch of a swimsuit at some point. And if it’s a quiet time, with just her and I, I’d love to put her bare wet toes in my mouth.

Bed

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 20:56:00 +0000

I slept like crap last night. Couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t breathe right. Back hurt all night long.

It’s hard to believe that the follow-up statement to a list of complaints like that is “I’m so happy!”, but it is.

The Iron Bedframe

It started out with the Iron Bedframe. This thing had heavy iron bedrails, and rounded metal head and foot boards with vertical dividers. (The dividers turned the tops of the rails into ideal attachment points for police-style handcuffs, a feature that I would make occasional use of during my association with CJ.) I’m told that the Iron Bedframe was made in the 40s or 50s. Old and well-built.

Of course, by time I came into possession of it, one of the bedrails was slightly bent. No idea how the thing got bent (drunk circus strongman?), but once it did have that slight malformation of shape to it, it became susceptible to further bending.

Enter the fat man. 450 now, up over 600 at my heaviest about five years ago. I’m apparently the kind of thing that can further bend an already structurally compromised heavy iron bedrail.

Mattress Transplant

When I started sleeping on this thing, it had what my friends and I termed the oldest mattress in the world. Because, well, we thought it just might have been. Old, worn, half-dead. And, the more I slept on it, the more sharp metal broken tips of springs poked out of it. By the end, it was covered in duct tape (the pieces of duct tape being used to hold down small thick pads – also made of duct tape – to provide a barrier between the sharp poky metal and my tender, tender flesh.

Oh, and under the mattress, nothing as fancy as a box-spring. No, this sucker had an old-style coil-spring. All metal, no enclosing ‘box’ structure whatsoever.

It served it’s purpose while I had it. I slept on it. I masturbated on it. There were several occasions where I fooled around with CJ on it. (I’m sure that if we’d have been able to actually have sex, I’d have fucked CJ on it.)

But as soon as an opportunity to grab a fairly decent secondhand mattress was presented to me, I grabbed it. Mattress and box-spring, in great shape. Replacing the world’s oldest mattress and the ancient fucking coil-spring.

A Crack in the Night

I had a few years worth of good night’s sleep on the ‘new’ mattress. But then, one night, as I’m laying there half asleep, I hear this weird creaking noise. “Huh,” I think sleepily. “Weird creaking noise. Oh well.”

And then there’s this loud CRACK! and half the mattress and box-spring drop through the bedframe to the floor. “Huh,” I think sleepily. “That’s not good at all.” I try to crawl out of bed, but that’s the point at which the medication I’m on that lets me sleep at night kicks in. I can’t really lift my arms or legs (which makes getting out of bed difficult) and the next thing I know I’m waking up the next morning in my partially collapsed bed.

Turns out that over time, the iron bedrail had continued to bend, until it was holding the bed in place, but not supporting it. Kind of like the braces that hold the board for the karate-chopping fist. Substitute my bed for the board, and my big fat ass for the karate hand, and you’ve got the idea.

The frame of the box-spring had broken in three places along one side.

My brother and I jury-rigged a system that would keep the bed in the frame for the time being, but I realized that the bed’s days were numbered. I just didn’t realize how large the ‘number’ in question was. That loud crack in the night took place years ago.

The Ditch

The surface of my bed developed a ditch. And no matter where I went to sleep, I woke up in that ditch. Apparently a big fat man will roll downhill just like any other round object.

There’s this mattress commercial where a set of ten bowling pins is set up on one half of a bed. Then to illustrate how movement on one side won’t disturb whoever’s sleeping on the other, they drop a bowling ball down onto the empty half of the bed without disturbing the pins.

Yeah, if you were to gently set a bowling ball on one half of my bed, it would immediately roll to the other side. Coming to a rest in the ditch.

People would occasionally tell me to stop bitching about my bed, assuming that I was exaggerating One day my sister was over, and I told her that I wanted her to lay on my bed for five minutes.

She couldn’t do it.

She laid down on the ‘good’ side. I told her, “Uh-uh. The other side, up against the wall. In the ditch.” So, she rolled over into the ditch. Her back started hurting in under a minute at which point she crawled out of the ditch and off my bed.

“How do you sleep on that?!” was her question.

After that, it became the trendy thing for people to do, like looking at my hernia. “Dude, you’ve got to go lay on Zeitgeist’s bed . . .”

Sleeping in the Chair

Building up to Christmas last year, there was something I needed, but could not find. I suspected that it was in a box at the bottom of my closet. (It was.) Putting my hands on it meant emptying my closet out onto my bed. The problem came at bedtime, when the contents of my closet were STILL on my bed. I hadn’t had the energy to put everything back.

So, I said, ‘Fuck it,’ and slept in my chair. It’s (sadly) not a recliner, so I used a small bench (the wrong height) for a footstool, covered up with a couple of throws, and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I realized that I wasn’t nearly as sore as I typically was after a night sleeping in the bed. When bedtime rolled around again, it occurred to me that I still hadn’t actually fed the contents of the bed back into the closet again. Huh. Oh well, another night in the chair, I guess.

I started sleeping in the chair in mid-to-late November. I never went back to the bed. I’ve been sleeping in a chair for four months to avoid sleeping in that damn bed.

Trickle Down Mattress-omics

So about a month ago, my sister-in-law’s parents bought a new bed. Box-spring, mattress, frame, head- and foot-boards – the works. Once they had made this purchase, they called up their daughter and asked if she and my brother wanted their old bed. And since the bed being offered them was better than the bed they’d currently been sleeping on, they said yes.

The next day my brother calls me, tells me this story, and then asks if I want the bed that he and his wife were currently using once they got their ‘new’ bed moved into the house and set up. I can’t remember exactly how I worded my answer, but I think I may have actually crawled through the phone line and kissed him all over his face. It’s possible.

I didn’t call anyone and offer them my old bed. Honestly, there’s nobody I hate that much. I suppose that if I were more involved in the BDSM community than I am, I’d know some heavy pain players that would have been happy to take it. Sleep on it for a night, and be in serious back pain for a week.

Anyway . . .

Yesterday my ‘new’ bed arrived. My brother and Zorch took my old piece of junk sleeping apparatus out of my bedroom – bent frame and all – and replaced it with an actual honest-to-God flat-surfaced box-spring and mattress on an intact and functional frame. (No fancy extras like a headboard or footboard, but really, what the fuck do I care?)

And so last night, instead of sitting in the chair under a pile of throws come bedtime, I crawled into bed. Into bed. You can’t imagine how good it feels to say ‘into bed’ and not have it tied to the image of the bent iron frame, the broken box-spring, and the legendary ditch.

Of course, after having spent four months sleeping in the chair, that became the default position. How my body registered ‘comfort’ and ‘sleep’. Which means that I slept like crap last night. Couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t breathe right. Back hurt all night long.

None of this was unexpected. Which is why I was eager to get the bed set up a couple of weeks prior to KinkFest – better to work through the pain and adjustment of going from sleeping-in-chair to sleeping-in-bed now than actually doing it at the event. I had this image of trying to attend workshops and play parties with a messed up back due to not being used to sleeping in a real bed.

But now the nice flat bed in the hotel room with be just like my nice flat bed at home. (Problem solved.)

I figure a couple more days, and my body will adjust to the new bed, and I’ll start getting good sleep that doesn’t fuck up my body. I can’t wait – I’m so excited!

(Now if I could just lure a woman into my life to serve as a kinky bed partner, I’d have it made.)