Friday, November 14, 2008

This Should Be Many Smaller Posts


I don’t know how long the average blog post is. I’m not sure what’s considered short, medium, or long. The word count on my introductory post was 700 and change. Since then, I haven’t had a post under a thousand words, with most of them hovering around two or three thousand. The last post was almost five thousand.

I don’t think that these are short. They’ve got to be at least medium, if not long. And while I suppose I am somewhat longwinded by nature, I wouldn’t mind making short posts once in a while.

So why haven’t I, thus far? It’s the lack of internet access. If I had internet access here at home and could post whenever I wanted to, then I’d be able to rattle off a quick thought and hit the ‘post’ button whenever I felt like it. But since posting on the blog is something of an ordeal, I tend to focus on producing big substantial blocks of text in the name of efficiency.

I’ve decided on a kind of compromise between the short post and the longer post. And that’s a long post filled with what would be smaller posts if they were all posted as separate pieces. Sort of like what I did with the “Halloween-Inspired Tidbits” post, only containing shorter pieces, and more of them.

This is the first one of these ‘posts that should be many smaller posts’. They’ll probably turn up in the blog from time to time. Enjoy. (Or don’t. What do I care?)


The previous post (“Maulie Goes to a Party”) felt cramped to me. It was nearly 5000 words, probably my longest post to date, and yet it felt cramped. I’m pretty sure that the reason for this is that it shouldn’t have been one post. It should have been at least three.

The post about the party should have simply been a post about the party. Arrival to departure. The other stuff should have been written and posted separately.

The creation and design of Maulie should have been it’s own post a week or so prior to the event. (Actually, if I was more organized, I could have done a long “The 2008 Halloween Costumes” post about both Maulie and the Ghost of All Pinatas prior to October 31st.) And I would have liked to have spent a little time talking about the backstory I put together for the character. Especially since it’s doubtful that I’ll ever get around to actually writing a Post-Apocalyptic Crossdressers novel. [Note to self: Need to write the post on writer’s block sooner rather than later.]

And then the whole bad back / underprepared for event / ‘too fat for all women’s clothing that’s easily available at the last moment thing’ should have been still a third post. Possibly posted after the piece on the party itself, as a kind of ‘all that great stuff at the party almost didn’t happen for me because . . . ’ post.

If I hadn’t been in a hurry to get the party report written and posted, I probably would have realized all of this and broken it up into smaller pieces. Too late now. But if the thing felt cramped to you too, well, that’s why. I’ll try to avoid some of these problems in the future.


One aspect of the Darklady parties that I didn’t get to mention in the previous post was the Birthday Wishes. If your birthday falls during the month the party takes place (along with a specified range of months before, after, or probably sometimes both), you get to make a birthday wish. These wishes are posted at the party, and the other partygoers look them over to see if they want to help try and make your wish come true.

(Apparently, if you inform them that you’re a birthday boy or girl when you arrive, you also get a birthday lei. A birthday lei? At a sex party? Oh, my – it’s a pun! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!)

Information on who’s wishing for what is included in the Party Information emails sent out prior to the event. Most of these are along the lines of, “So-and-so has not shared (his/her) birthday wish yet”. But others figure out their wishes and get them submitted early.

The final pre-party FAQ for the Polyween bash included several wishes for massages. (Erotic massages, massages from strangers, blindfolded massages from multiple people, and so on.) One partygoer wanted to be blindfolded and taken away for “softcore fun”. Some people just wanted birthday kisses. Others were fetish minded. One guy wanted to lick the feet of women with open-toe high heels.

Then there were the less softcore desires. One guy wanted to be a slave and receive a handjob or blowjob. Another guy wanted to engage in “kinky finger play” with a lady. There were requests for oral sex, requests for people to join couples for group activities, requests to become human sex toys, and requests to be ravished and dominated.

Darklady had canceled a planned summer party earlier in the year, so the range of months for the Polyween party was longer than usual, encompassing June through November. The New Year’s Party will see the granting of Birthday Wishes for those born in December, January, and February. And I was born in December. (My birthday takes place just about a week before the party does.) So I’ll definitely qualify for a wish.

I plan to have an email conversation with Darklady regarding the birthday wish prior to the party. I have questions. What kind of wishes usually end up getting fulfilled, what kind of wishes just get laughed at and ignored, and so on. I don’t want to waste this opportunity, so I’ll need to put some effort into making sure that’s a wish that has a decent chance of getting granted.

Of course, right now my stupid brain – who has apparently read all the wrong fables to be of any help to me – is screaming, “Three more wishes! Wish for three more wishes!”


I was digging through a stack of stuff today (today being when I’m writing this, not when I’m posting this – not that you probably care, but I thought I’d offer full disclosure on the meaning of ‘today’ for you anyway). I didn’t find what I was actually looking for, but I did come up with a notebook from earlier this year that had a list of potential blog topics for this thing.

These topics have all been entered into a word processor document at some point (along with many others), but that file was lost when my C-drive crashed a month or so ago. So I was quite happy to find this.

Anyway, as I’m sitting here reading through the topics – some of which were just titles, some of which included notes as well – I saw something on the list that made me say, “Well, that’s no longer applicable.”

The title of the post would have been “Why I Don’t Cross-Dress”. The entirety of my notes were: “450 lbs. Facial hair.” (If you want to take a moment here to go back and look at the picture of me in drag from the previous post go ahead. I’ll wait. Didn’t I make a pretty girl?)

Once I saw the notes, I remember wanting to do a post about how if I wasn’t A.) obese, and B.) weirdly attached to my facial hair, I’d probably experiment with cross-dressing at some point. I don’t have urges to dress up in women’s clothing (and spending nearly ten hours dressed as Maulie didn’t ‘do’ anything for me, other than confirm what women always say – bras are really uncomfortable). But I like costuming, and there are times when the ability to easily cross-dress might be handy to go with that hobby.

There are probably other valid reasons why I (typically) don’t cross-dress as well. Previous Halloweens have shown me to be allergic to make-up. Plus, I can’t really afford to pick up wardrobe pieces for a whole additional gender.

Still, I found it amusing that I was reminded that I was planning to post an explanation about why I can’t do something just a day or so after posting about having done that very thing. Odd.


I have two routes I generally take to get here. Usually I just click the link to the blog from my FetLife profile page. But if I’m not signed into FetLife, then I type “blogger” into the search engine, go to the Blogger homepage, sign in, and get here that way.

But the other day at my sister’s apartment, I decided that I was going to arrive via a third route. I was going to find the blog – not Blogger, but Time Delay – via the search engines.

I had a lot of stuff that I wanted to do online that day, so I gave up after about a half hour. It was nowhere to be found.

“Time Delay” didn’t lead me here. “Zeitgeist Clown” didn’t lead me here. “Time Delay Zeitgeist Clown” didn’t lead me here. Neither “Why I’m Still a Virgin” or “Does Craigslist Have a Weight Limit” led me here. I tried everything I could think of on both Google and Yahoo, and finally determined that my blog simply doesn’t exist.

This disturbed me somewhat.

If I can’t find my blog when I have the pertinent information (title of blog, ‘name’ of author), then how would a person just out looking for a new sex blog to read ever stumble upon this thing?

What this means is that right now, the only people reading this blog are two people I know in real life, whoever has decided to click on any of three or four links I’ve left on my profile page or in discussion threads on FetLife, and possibly Darklady. Now, you folks are all quality people, and I love having you in my audience, but I was really hoping to have a wider readership than JUST you fine upstanding citizens. (Especially since I’m really hoping that some sweet young thing falls in lust with my writing style and offers me her body. The larger my readership, the larger my chances of that, right?)

I need to find a way to pimp my blog.

I know that there are ways to do this, but they usually involve being able to spend more time online than I have available to me. Being able to read other people’s sex blogs and posting comments would be a big step in the right direction, as it would endear me to the general sex blogging community. But the library keeps me from doing that via both pornography filters and time constraints.

If any of you have ideas, I’m open to suggestions.

And, hey, tell your friends about me. Advertising started with word of mouth. Go forth, and pimp my blog. (Please?)


In one of my earliest posts, I mentioned that I’d been trading emails with a humiliation fetishist. I was planning on writing a post about Filthsplotch after there’d been some more communication between us, but it’s been awhile now since I’ve heard from her. (It. Whatever. Filthy dog.)

Her last timely email to me came in mid-August, and she promised she’d write again in a few days. After a couple of weeks I emailed her to ask if she had died in some sort of horrible and humiliating masturbation accident. (I could think of no other valid reason why the stupid incompetent slut would have gone silent on me.) She finally wrote back to me in September. Just a short email, telling me why she hadn’t emailed me, and that it would be a little while longer before she could get a decent missive out to me. She apologized, and told me that she’d accept whatever punishment I felt was appropriate.

The worthless smudge had, however, said that she’d completed two of the three dares that I’d challenged her to, and had also claimed to have completed the punishment I’d ordered for mouthing off to me in a previous email. She promised that she’d give me full details about all of that in her next email.

Which hasn’t come yet.

I emailed her the other day, asking the Grotesque Crotch Pimple if she had gone ahead and died after previously assuring me that she was still alive. If I don’t hear from the unemptied blowjob spitbucket soon, I’ll simply write her off as gone. Not ever really having been worthy of my attentions anyway.


Over in one of my other email accounts, however, I found something surprising. A “Hey, Long Time, No See” email from the infamous CJ, with whom there’s been no communication for nearly a year.

Her email was the basic, “Let me catch you up on what’s going on in my life” type, and it’s five paragraphs in before she mentions that her cancer has come back. And then she wraps up having gone through chemo, radiation, surgery, more radiation, and a clean three month checkup in the space of that single paragraph before moving on to other topics. La la la.

The first time I read the email, my heart’s in my throat, and I’m thinking, “Oh, fuck! That’s horrible! Poor CJ! God, I hope she’s all right . . .” The second time I read the email I just got pissed off.

CJ and I have been (accidentally platonic) sex partners. No intercourse, but we fooled around. That didn’t work out, so we decided to just be friends. Over the years, we’ve gone back and forth from friends to almost-but-not-quite friends-with-benefits and back again. And yeah, we hit many periods of lengthy silences. But I swear to God, if I was diagnosed with cancer, I’d let her know it. I wouldn’t wait until it was all over and done with before clueing her in.

On the one hand, I feel selfish and inconsiderate even thinking these thoughts, let along sitting here pounding them out on the keyboard for all to see. I mean, she just went through CANCER, and I’m sitting here complaining because she hadn’t been thinking of me. What kind of jerk am I?

But I wanted to be there for her. Even if there was nothing I could do, I wanted her to know I was thinking of her. I could have prayed for her, if nothing else. [I live in a weird little Catholic town, I could have shanghaied other people to pray for her, for that matter.] I wanted to be one of those friends who’s there for you when something like cancer happens. And for all the times that she’s told me she wants us to be friends, it turns out that she doesn’t actually want us to have the level of friendship that includes concern for one another during something like cancer.

Honestly, I doubt that I’d be ranting like this if it weren’t for the fact that her first bout with cancer eleven years ago occurred during our first period of non-communication. (At the time I had thought that she was simply done with us altogether.) But I eventually got a letter explaining that she’d had cancer, but was now on the road to recovery. I felt kind of like this then, too. But not nearly as much.

I’ve talked to friends about this, and everyone tells me that I should talk to her about this. So then I ask if they’d make this complaint to a just recently recovered cancer patient if they were in my position. They think about this for a moment, and then tell me, “Oh, Hell, no.” They wouldn’t possibly bitch about this to someone who just went through cancer. But they still think that I should. (The people composing my social support system are all very, very weird I’m starting to realize.)

Yeah, I can’t really talk to her about this. I certainly can’t bring it up. I mean, I can rant and vent about it here because this is blog, and blog is therapy. But I can’t talk to her about it.

Of course, in that email to me, she also asked if I was blogging again, and I’ve since sent her a link to this thing. We’ve been emailing back and forth again since then, and she’s referenced things from the blog several times, so I know that she reads this. I have a feeling that I’m going to get an angry email from her soon. So be it.

Am I a horrible person? I don’t know. Maybe.


Back in the post entitled “Joining”, I made a brief mention of having some bicurious interests. Or, to put it in the vernacular of the populace, I “outed” myself as being potentially bisexual.

A week or so later, I caught a reference to something that had happened ‘a week or so’ earlier, and immediately had to go cross-reference dates and see how close I came . . . or if by some quirk of fate, I happened to do it at the exact right time.

Nope. Missed it by five days. “Joining” was posted on October 16th. Had I been a little earlier – had I managed to get it posted on October 11th – then the admission that I’ve considered having a same-sex encounter would have occurred on National Coming Out Day.


Not that it would have been a big deal. I mean, unless and until I actually have some hot sweaty man sex and go from bi-curious to bi-confirmed it’s not like I have anything to talk about. And it was just Zeitgeist the Clown who was outed, which is just a name I’m hiding behind online. (Seriously . . . I don’t want to disillusion anybody, but it doesn’t actually say “Zeitgeist the Clown” on my birth certificate or any of my ID cards. Well, except for my Asylum Dungeon membership card, of course.)


It’s nice to watch the sex and everything, but the real reason that I watch pornography is for the dialogue.

Okay, that’s not true at all. I watch porn just for the sex. Although, sometimes there will be a really good line of dialogue. Funny dialogue. And usually not intentionally. A lot of times you get the right combination of bad writing with bad acting and you get something that’s just pure gold.

Lots of people have a favorite porn movie. A favorite porn scene. Favorite actress. This kind of thing. I’ve got all those things too, but I’ve also got a favorite piece of dialogue.

Several years ago, when I still had internet access and would occasionally (okay, frequently) download porn, I found a clip where the plot (such as it was) involved some big bald guy having gotten a pair of concert tickets that he was trying to trade his babysitter for sex. And at the beginning of this masterpiece, he pulls out his cock, and her reaction is coy hesitation to go down on him. She explains this hesitation to him in a way that not even Shakespeare could have improved upon: “That’s an awful big dick, Mr. Jones.”

I just butchered the line by simply typing it. You’ve got to hear it. The first time I heard it I laughed so hard I nearly fell out of my chair. I cracked up every time I listened to it. The porn wasn’t even that good. But I ended up watching just the first minute or so of that stupid thing over and over again for several months until a hard drive crash stole it from me. (Hard drive crashes follow me around like hungry stray dogs follow lepers made out of kibble.) I loved that thing. I loved it, my brother loved it, friends loved it. We still quote the line to this day.

Anyway, it’s still my favorite line from porn. But now I’ve also got a second favorite.

Someone got me a pirated copy of something called “Fresh Out of High School” (they actually got me volumes #4 – 6 and 8 – 12, and I can’t remember which one had this scene on it right at the moment). The scene in question has the requisite hot porn chick all tarted up in a schoolgirl outfit, arriving at the door of the just-moved-in next door neighbor with a plate of homemade cookies that her mom sent over for him. He tries the cookies, finds them tasty, and in classic porn fashion, the girl is soon sucking his cock.

Before long they start fucking, and less than a minute after he first penetrates her she asks him the following question: “How do you like this nice tight little pussy? Is it better than my mom’s cookies?”

I don’t think that pornography will ever really be known for it’s scintillating dialogue. But sometimes it cracks me up.

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