Saturday, October 17, 2009

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

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 . . . . .

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Darklady's Detention Hall (an Event Report)

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 . . .


Sunday, September 13, 2009

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

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

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…
Embarrassed, Amused and Turned On
Helping Hand
HNT 4 (and a savoury story)
Masturbation Madness
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.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Have the Terrorists Won?

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.


Thursday, September 10, 2009

The Darklady (Crush or Fetish, Part Two)

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 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.


Blogjam (Excuses and Explanations)

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."


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 (

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.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Sugasm #171 (Late Again, Sorry)

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


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


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


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

Monday, August 24, 2009

The Year 39 Update

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 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!