November 8th was Darklady’s Halloween party. The actual title of the event was “Darklady’s Harvest Festival of Hedonism Late Season Polyween Party”.
I’ve wanted to go to a Darklady party for years now. She has several parties a year, and the first one I ever heard about was the annual Masturbate-a-Thon party, held every May (an appropriate place on the calendar, given that May is National Masturbation Month.) I was supposed to go to this year’s Masturbate-a-Thon shindig, but my ride canceled on me. I was determined that I would make it to the Halloween party, no matter what.
I started thinking about costume concepts in late September/early October. When I was a kid, Mom always tried to get me to dress up as a girl for Halloween. I never did, because unless you get bitten by the crossdressing bug early in life and are searching for any excuse to wear female clothing, it’s just not something that boys do. Certainly not in the small town where I grew up. And while I loved costuming, I wasn’t thrilled with ridicule, so I always politely declined the whole Halloween transvestite thing, and then came up with some other outlandish concept instead.
But once I was out of high school, and the occasional Halloween party I went to was thrown by my grown-up friends, I was always tempted. Get a skirt and blouse, and go fem for an evening.
This was the thought that I kept returning to when trying to come up with a costume concept for Darklady’s party. So I started trying to find something that would suit my needs. What were my needs? Mainly that I didn’t have to fuck around with trying to wear heels (450 lbs and poor balance), and that I didn’t have to shave off my beard (I love my beard).
My first thought was to go as a belly dancer or a genie. Something with a veil. From there my thoughts turned briefly to bride, but I couldn’t see any way to acquire (or fake) a plus-size wedding dress on my budget. I’m not familiar enough with the luchador traditions to know if there are females among the masked Mexican wrestlers, but the final idea for hiding my facial hair came to be before I got a chance to research the question. Gas mask.
I’d have to shave off some of my facial hair, but I’d be able to keep everything in the goatee region of my face. Once the decision was made to wear a homemade prop gas mask, the rest of the basic design for the costume fell into place rather quickly. Figuring out a reason for the gas mask gave me an era, the era gave me a style, and before long, I was designing a Post-Apocalyptic Crossdresser.
Basic clothing style would lean toward punkish, which meant that scuffed up black leather hiking boots would work just fine for the character. Short skirt, jacket worn open over bra, stockings (ideally fishnets), and so on. My hair in pigtails, threaded through holes cut into a dark ballcap (to hide the fact that most of my head is balding and decidedly ungirly).
At first I was going to name my creation Molly. Then I decided to make the name a little harsher, so I spelled it M-a-u-l-i-e. Maulie. (Then I came up with a whole backstory, supporting characters, and the plotline for an bisexual erotic novel – but that’s a whole other story than the one I’m telling here.)
The specifics of Maulie’s costume changed more times than the Ghost of All Piñatas would when I’d go to do that for the Asylum Dungeon party. At least twice I had what I’d decided was the finalized design all written down. But I wasn’t able to get out to do the necessary shopping for the costume until the week of the party, and so last minute changes were made based on what was available to me.
On the 5th of November, I woke up, got out of bed, and felt my back go ‘twoing!’, and then I nearly hit the floor. I’ve had back problems for over a decade now. And it likes to go out at the most inopportune times. Like three days before the big party I’ve been eagerly waiting for months to go to.
Also, my bed is a total piece of junk. People get aches and pains simply by looking at it. Not the best thing in the world for a back on the verge of going out. The plan for the pre-party build-up had been to go to my sister’s apartment in Salem on the 7th, finish shopping for costume stuff, get it put together, and then have Zorch pick me up and run me into Portland the next afternoon for the event. But I knew if I had to sleep a couple more nights on the bed of doom, there’d be no way I’d be in any shape to go.
So, I called my sister and explained the situation. She was going to be out in my area Thursday morning (the 6th), and could pick me up then, giving me an additional day at her place, sleeping in something that wasn’t trying to kill me.
My back couldn’t make up it’s mind as to whether it was getting better or worse. Friday morning my sister, her fiancé and I hit Wal*Mart for costume parts. Then in the late afternoon/early evening, my brother came and took me to the mall so I could finish the shopping. Or so I thought.
So far, I had a bunch of stuff for the costume, but I was missing some of the important stuff. I didn’t have panties. (Which, with the skirt in place, weren’t the major priority, but I kind of wanted them just the same.) Or stockings. Or the bra.
There were two plus-sized places in the mall. Lane Bryant, and Torrid. I hit LB first, only to discover that they carry bras up to size 48. And according to the measuring tape wielded by the lady behind the counter, I needed a 62. “Lane Bryant: Our Clothing is Fat, But Not as Fat as Zeitgeist the Clown”.
Same deal at Torrid. Up to a 48. No larger. Both places suggested other places in Salem I could try, but seemed a little hesitant about my chances for success.
The next morning – the morning of the party – I managed to pick up stockings. Not fishnets, but by this point, I just wanted women’s clothing, and questions of high concept were quickly leaving my head in favor of whatever I could find. I bought my bra (beige instead of my preferred black) at a place called Catherine’s. It was a size 52 DD. I then bought a handful of bra extenders at Wal*Mart to give me the additional 10” I needed.
My sister finished the work she’d started the night before customizing the jacket, with some help from her fiancé. We tested out the bra to make sure that it fit properly. (And to make sure that my gigantic man-boobs were big enough to fill the DD cups. They are, and I don’t know whether to be grateful for the sake of the costume or a little upset about the state of my obesity.) We couldn’t find panties big enough to fit me, so I ended up wearing my normal underwear beneath my lovely animal print skirt. (Shh! Don’t tell anybody.)
Zorch arrived later that afternoon. I showered and started getting into my outfit. Once I was all dressed and geared up – including the wonderful gas mask that my soon-to-be brother-in-law improved from my initial working prototype – pictures were taken. Then I loaded up my purse (transparent purple bag from the dollar store intended as a trick-or-treater’s bag), climbed into the Zorchmobile, and off we went.
The trip over was more or less uneventful, unless you count the car accident we narrowly avoided. Or the other car accident we avoided about 45 seconds later after the guy we almost hit the first time went into road rage, tried to pull a 180 to charge back at us, and lost control of his car. (We made sure he came to a stop without crashing, then Zorch floored it and away we went.)
The party was set to run from 7:00 to 2:00. I arrived more-or-less on time at about 7:10, only to discover that nearly everybody else planned to arrive fashionably late. Aside from the volunteer staff (Darklady’s “Darklings”), there were just a handful of people in the ballroom. I wandered around for a bit, then found the staircase leading down to the ground level, which contained a party space called the Rubitorium. This area is where the foam and air mattresses were being set up for people to get naked and romp around with other partygoers on.
Staircases and I are never really good friends under the best of circumstances, and I was using this one with a bad back. So by time I got to the bottom, I found a couch, and asked it’s lone occupant if she minded me sitting there. She did not, and so I sat. This was her first Darklady party, too. We talked for awhile, watching Darklings setting up the mattresses and everything.
Apparently the two people who finished the mattress set-up are also quality control, because as soon as they had everything set up, they checked to make sure that a sample mattress station was sex-worthy. One minute we’re watching them set up beds, the next minute they strip down and start fucking. “This,” I think to myself, “Is going to be one interesting party.”
I took my gas mask off for awhile. Wearing it for any real length of time got hot and made it difficult to breath properly – but unlike the Ghost costume a week earlier it was easy to slip on and off, so I would wear it off and on throughout the night. Then I continued watching the sex while chatting with my couch co-occupant. Eventually she wandered off in search of food. I hung out for a while longer as that first couple finished their fuck and changed the sheets on the bed. Then I realized that if I stayed on the couch much longer, my back was going to start acting up, so I moved on.
By time I went back upstairs, more people had arrived. I was starting to see people in costumes walking around. Over the course of the night I saw hippies, gladiators, schoolgirls, catgirls, movie monster types, and so on. One guy was either a generic classic vampire, or Count D himself. There was a toga-wearing Roman emperor looking dude. There was a woman dressed as a referee. I saw Robin and Superman, but no Batman. (Sadly, no Batgirl either.) Our hostess, Darklady herself, arrived wearing Witch’s attire.
I wasn’t the only crossdresser in attendance. Nor was I the only fat man at the party. I do, however, believe that I was the only fat crossdresser there. And I got quite a few stares from some of the other partygoers. As well as a few doubletakes, which is always nice when you’re trying to make an impression.
(And while it wasn’t a costume, there was a woman there who was nearly a dead ringer for my childhood best friend’s mother, circa the mid-80s. Creepy! No Halloween costume could have given me a bigger fright than the first time I saw her crossing the room wearing what looked like some kind of fishnet bodystocking.)
Those who weren’t in costume were either in elegant goth fashion or formalwear, or decked out in selections from their bondage wardrobe. One very sexy young lady wore leather ankle cuffs, leather wrist cuffs (neither set attached cuff-to-cuff), and a pair of skimpy black panties with the slogan “It’s not gonna spank itself” written across the butt.
I hung out in the ballroom area for awhile. I got to watch my friend from the couch taking a wooden paddle across her ass in front of the video camera that was feeding projected images to one of the walls. Big screen spanking.
My second trip downstairs to the Rubitorium provided me with much more live porn entertainment. I sat and watched a nearly naked couple dry-humping on one of the beds as foreplay (they’d strip fully naked, go down on one another, have sex, and then start in on a length afterplay before I left). One woman had started giving a guy sitting on one of the benches a blowjob. They soon relocated to a bed to continue their activities. And as I watched back and forth between these two couples, more people came in, headed not for the benches with the rest of the voyeurs, but for two of the beds, which they pushed together. One man in dressy attire. One woman in dressy attire. One man dressed in the classic black-and-white striped prison outfit from the waist up (including a hat) and naked from the waist down. And one woman dressed as a referee. The ref stripped down to her ref’s shirt and socks, and was quickly mounted by the prisoner while the other woman slipped out of her dress and underthings, and took off her shoes. (She was a little plump, but I kind of like that. And her bare feet looked SO incredibly sexy.) She then got down and started making out with the ref. The other guy just watched the threesome going at it for awhile through various positions and combinations, before stripping down and turning it into a foursome. Both women on all fours, face-to-face and kissing while the men were each behind a woman, pumping away. And me about five feet away with a hard-on under my skirt.
My back had been complaining about having sat in one place for too long, but I wasn’t leaving while the foursome was going on. Mainly, I suppose, because of the fully naked plump chick. When the threesome to foursome conversion happened, she was facing away from me, which means that the soles of her bare feet were facing towards me, and my fetish wouldn’t let me go away. But eventually, everybody finished up, and (sadly) put their clothing and costume pieces back on. So I got up and headed back upstairs.
By this point, the Rubitorium had become very, very warm, and the much cooler ballroom was a relief. I found and introduced myself to Darklady (this is a requirement if it’s your first Darklady party). I’d emailed her an unsolicited link to my blog several weeks earlier, asking her to take a look at it if she had the time and inclination. Once I introduced myself to her, she told me that I needed to resend her my blog link, because she had a massive email failure that wiped out nearly everything in her account prior to about a week previous.
It’s times like this that make me happy I decided to go with a name like Zeitgeist the Clown instead of something like Bob or Jimmy. It’s memorable enough that people can remember you from an email. Anyway, I’ll be sending her the blog link when I post this entry, so she might even be reading this. (Hello, Darklady! Thanks for the party, I had a wonderful time!)
I was seeing a great number of bare breasts on and around the dance floor, and it got me to thinking. These women knew that they were wearing tops with holes in just-the-right-places. Or that they weren’t wearing tops at all. And so if they knew that they were in a sex-charged atmosphere with their breasts completely visible, they must be alright with people looking at them. This wasn’t the first time I’ve had these same thoughts about exposed body parts in public or semi-public settings.
I was standing in line at the bar (waiting to pay $2.00 for a 20 oz bottle of water) when I noticed a woman in the line next to me wearing a dominatrix-y outfit with both breasts fully exposed. And as I’m standing there thinking about how all these bare-breasted people must be all right with having their breasts stared at, I started wondering about just what else they might be all right with. Then I started thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve played with a nice pair of breasts. And then the strangest thing happened. I spoke.
I had no intention of saying anything. The fact that these words escaped my lips came as a complete surprise to me. But there I was, standing there with my man-boobs stuffed into a bra, suddenly facing this bare-breasted woman, and saying, “I’ll let you grope me if I can grope you in return.”
She glances at me, then turns to face me, and holds her hands a few inches underneath her breasts, presentation-style, as if to say, “Go for it.” So, I went for it. I drop my purse on the floor, lean my cane up against the bar, and put both of my hands on her breasts, then begin to squeeze. She had very nice breasts. Once I start groping her, she brings her hands up to start pawing at me through my bra. I tell her that her breasts are much nicer than mine. And that her nipples are really better than mine. As I start playing with her nipples, she finds mine through the bra, and replies to my last comment by saying, “I don’t know . . . yours are pretty responsive . . . “ Which is true. Once she found them and got them pinched between her thumb and finger, they immediately became hard as a rock. (As did my penis.) We continue groping each other for a minute or so, and then it’s her turn at the bar. We disengage so she can order her drink. Then the other bartender takes my big expensive water order, and once both of our drinks arrive, we smile at each other and wander off in different directions.
These were the first breasts I had groped in almost eight years. (I touched the breasts of two different women at KinkFest – most notably slapping the breasts of a woman who was walking around the dungeon wearing nothing but a pair of boots on her feet and a little bit of marker ink above her rack reading “Slap My Tits” – but there was no actual grabbing, holding, or squeezing going on.) And this was definitely the first time I’ve played with anybody’s nipples in that nearly eight year long period. (Damn, but I’ve missed tits.)
I walked around for awhile, suddenly much more aware of every bare breast in the place. I wanted to make the offer again to someone else. No means no, and I’m fine with that.
But I had just learned that sometimes the answer isn’t “no”. (Wow!) I looked around for another bare-breasted woman who might indulge me with a grope-swap. But the only women I saw were already with other people, either chatting away or making out. Neither of which was a situation I wanted to disturb. I noticed the woman from the bar seated next to a guy, deep in conversation.
I thought about staking out the bar, trying to catch women who had separated from their partners just long enough to go get drinks. But that seemed far too creepy.
So, I continued wandering around for awhile. I went back downstairs for a little bit, but there were no available seats. I stood and watched the sexual activities for a short while before tackling the staircase once more, looking for an empty chair up in the ballroom.
I sat in the ballroom just watching the other partygoers for awhile. I moved across to the other side of the room, and watched the activites in the roped off ‘dungeon’ area for awhile. Then located another empty chair and sat for awhile again.
There was a woman seated at a table not far from me who had taken her shoes off. She was busily conversing with the other people seated with her. Her shoes were under her chair, her feet were under the table. There were a lot of nice feet at the party. Not just the barefoot or fully naked women, but those with the sandal-y, open-toed, or otherwise revealing footware.
And suddenly, emboldened by my experience with the grope exchange in the bar, I decided that enough was enough. I’ve had a foot fetish since the Year of Our Lord 1759 (that doesn’t seem quite right – I may have to double check my math), and I’ve never been allowed to suck on any bare female toes. So I made a decision. I told myself that I was not going to leave the party until I had sucked on a woman’s toes.
My plan of attack was simple. I would seek out women with bare feet (or stockingless feet in what looked like easily removable shoes), and ask them if they’d let me suck on their toes. I’d start with women who weren’t making out with anyone, or engaged in conversation with someone, or otherwise busy. But I also decided that if I wasn’t having any luck by time the party was in it’s final hour, I’d go ahead and start interrupting people as politely as I could. Because tonight was the night. I could feel it in my bones. (Yeah, I see the obvious pun. I’m just not going for it.)
On my first pass through the ballroom, I found exactly zero women who weren’t busy. But two of them looked like they might not be busy for long. One of these was the plump woman who’s foursome I’d been watching earlier in the evening. She was seated at a table with a half-empty plate of food and half-empty glass, talking to a guy sitting at her table. I figured that once she was done eating, there was a chance that she’d take off. And if she didn’t leave with the other person, I’d swoop in.
The other woman seemed like kind of a longshot. First of all, she was hot. Out-of-my-league hot. She was not only barefoot, but bare everything. Stark naked, laid out on a massage table getting rubbed down and fingered. And her feet just killed me. Absolutely beautiful. No polish on the toenails, but they didn’t need any such adornments to turn me on.
I parked myself in a chair at a triangle point between these two lovely ladies, and waited for the first one to become available to my clumsy advances. I kept an eye on both, while occasionally scanning the crowd for a third potential barefoot target.
Massage table lady stood up first. I sat there for a few more minutes while she slipped into her panties and started putting on her corset. I thought it would be better if I didn’t lumber over to her and request to slobber on her while she was still naked. But I got up and approached her as she was finishing doing up her corset, before she reached for her footware.
I leaned in so she could hear me over the dance music and said, “Can I ask you a question?” She answered in the affirmative, and looked at me with just a touch of, “Oh, fuck, what is this creep going to want” in her expression.
“Would you have any interest in letting me suck on your toes?”
There it was. I’d asked my first toe-sucking question of the night. I was actually following through with my plan. Target number one down. Who knows how many others to go.
Upon hearing my question, her face brightened, and she said, “Yes!”
I think that’s when my brain threw a rod or something. For a brief moment, all I could think was, “Wait, what did I ask? How did I phrase it? Was it, ‘Do you mind if I suck on your toes?’ Was I looking for a ‘No’ answer? Could I have possibly not only hit the jackpot my first try, but done so with this incredibly hot sexy woman?”
She went on to say, “If someone wants to suck on my toes, I’m almost always up for it. Do you want to do it downstairs, or up here?”
Now, I wasn’t honestly sure that I could make it up and down those stairs again with my back the way it was. I told her that I’d do it wherever she wanted, and that here was fine with me. We found her a chair, and she sat down. I sat on the floor in front of her, and she lifted her right leg up so that I could reach her foot with my mouth, and I started sucking on her big toe.
I was much harder now than I had been when I was just getting my nipples played with in the bar.
I licked and sucked on her toes for a while, and she told me that she wouldn’t be able to keep holding her leg up, and that I should find another chair for her to rest her legs on. So I got up off of the floor to find her another chair, and in doing so had my big clumsy oaf moment of the night. I stepped on the bare toes of her left foot with my big black boot. I felt it immediately and tried to adjust my weight away from her, but don’t know how successful I was. I asked if I had just stepped on her (stupid question, of course I’d just stepped on her), but she waved it off, telling me it was fine.
I went off on my quest and quickly returned with a chair for her to use as a leg rest. When I returned to sucking on her toes, I started sucking harder, and apparently scrapped my teeth across the tops of them, causing her to caution me to “watch the teeth, please”. I licked her toes and the soles of her feet, I sucked on her toes, sometimes two and three at a time, I tongued the valleys between her toes. I eventually switched to the left foot, and repeated everything there.
Throughout the experience, she kept telling me how good it felt. Several times I glanced up to find her with her eyes closed, her face contented with relaxation at my oral ministrations. I kept at it until my back simply couldn’t take it any more, then explained my reasons for stopping and thanked her profusely for the opportunity. She thanked me right back.
It was only after she’d gone off into the crowd that I realized I had never asked her what her name was. I ran into her later on in the night and corrected this, finding out her name and informing her of mine. (I’m not telling you what her name was, because I’m still unsure of where I’m supposed to stand on the whole question of anonymity regarding sex, kink, and BDSM events, even when people just give me scene names.)
It was later still when yet another thought occurred to me: When she asked if I wanted to go downstairs, could that have possibly been an indication that she may have been willing to fool around beyond simple footplay? This possibility now haunts me. Bad back or no, I’d’ve made it up and down those stairs another time if I could have done more than just suck the toes of this exquisite woman. Then again, she may have simply been asking if I’d be embarrassed to have her foot in my mouth in the less secluded open space of the ballroom. Who knows?
The rest of the party was comparatively uneventful. I spent some more time watching the goings-on in the dungeon area. Sat around watching the costumed people dancing or making out or whatnot. Eventually the party started winding down, and at about 1:15 I called Zorch and told him to go ahead and come get me. Twenty minutes later he called me back from outside, and I concluded my first Darklady party.
Her next party is on New Year’s Eve, and I’ve decided that I AM attending. I don’t know how yet, just that I am.
I still have a relative or two who come up with the classic annual combination of Christmas card and $20 bill, so even after annihilating my finances with what limited Christmas shopping I’m able to do each year, I should still be able to come up with the money to attend Darklady’s New Year’s Eve Party. (Now all I need to do is find a ride. Zorch has already told me that he’ll be far, far too drunk that day to provide me with transportation.)
And next time maybe I’ll do more than just grope a nice pair of tits and suck on some toes.