Tuesday, March 24, 2009

The Road to KinkFest - 3 Days and Counting

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

The Bed Update

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That OTHER March 27th – 29th Convention in Portland

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

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

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

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

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

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

Year 39 Uberlist – Notice of Delay of Update

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

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

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

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

I Had a Dream About Being Just a Little Bit Famous

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

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

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

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

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

MY KinkFest Schedule

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dungeon once again closes at 1:00 am.

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

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

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

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

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

Three days left. Yikes.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Road to KinkFest - 5 Days and Counting

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

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

The Wishlist

So many things I want to do at KinkFest.

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

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

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

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

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

Not Exactly a Checklist

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

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

Dungeon Activities

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

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

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

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

And speaking of bondage . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BDSMI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sexual Encounters

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s Go Back to My Room”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six Things from a List of Thirty-Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Bed

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

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

The Iron Bedframe

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

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

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

Mattress Transplant

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

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

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

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

A Crack in the Night

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

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

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

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

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

The Ditch

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

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

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

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

She couldn’t do it.

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

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

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

Sleeping in the Chair

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

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

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

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

Trickle Down Mattress-omics

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

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

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

Anyway . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday, March 13, 2009

The Road to KinkFest - 14 Days and Counting

Okay, I’m scared now. When the countdown started, it was 57 days, or “roughly two months”. Now it’s exactly two weeks. How the fuck did that happen? I swear, somebody’s been stealing days from me. Large groups of days.

Progress Previously Made

I’ve got my membership to the sold out event paid for and confirmed. Got my hotel room reserved, and I’ve got the money to pay for half of it. Found a roommate to pay for the other half and sleep in the room’s other bed. I’m pretty sure that I’ve even got a ride to and from the event now.

I’ve agreed to contribute four hours (give or take) of volunteer work to the event. I’ve made an effort to scrape together some folding green to spend in the vendor’s area. And to feed myself over the course of the weekend. (Some of which is money saved by eating Top Ramen instead of real food which costs actual money.)

I’ve probably done other things that I can’t remember at the moment. (My brain withholds things from me. Stupid brain.)

The Volunteer Schedule

I received my schedule of volunteer duties in my email earlier this week. I have three shifts, and for each one I will be the man on the bridge. You know the one I mean. The man who stands on the bridge and says, “None Shall Pass!”

Okay, more accurately, for each of my three shifts, I’ll be guarding a door. And the actual command will be more along the lines of “None Who Lack a Convention Badge Shall Pass!”

The various doorways that I’ll be guarding all lead to workshops that I want to attend, and I’ll be guarding them from the inside. So I’ll not only be keeping the unauthorized riff-raff out of the room, but also be attending the workshops at the same time. Shiny.

The workshops in question are the ‘Fisting and Footing’ workshop (10:00 to 11:30 on Saturday morning), the ‘THWACK!!!’ workshop on impact play (1:00 to 2:30 Saturday afternoon), and the ‘Let Your Beast Out’ workshop (1:00 to 2:30 on Sunday afternoon).

This is actually a great help to me, as it narrows down my workshop selections by taking a few of the unfathomable choices out of my hands. ‘Fisting and Footing’ was a given. That’s WHERE I was going to be at that time. But the other two workshop periods had me stymied.

‘THWACK!!!—Understanding Impact Play’ or ‘Visit Uranus: An Anal Pleasure Workshop’? ‘The Siren Song of Oblivion – Why Play on the Edge?’ or ‘Let Your Beast Out!’? I kept going back and forth on which two of those four workshops to attend. But now I’m committed, so it’s no longer a question.

It Overstayed It’s Welcome, And It Just Won’t Leave!

My penis still has no stamps on it’s passport. And looking forward, I see no obvious sexual prospects awaiting me in the next two weeks. I had a plan (well, less a ‘plan’ than a ‘hope’, actually) to lose my pesky virginity prior to KinkFest. This plan failed.

This means that I will once again walk into KinkFest a virgin. A sex-starved, 38-year old virgin. Standing in the dungeon, surrounded by both partially and completely naked people. And while I can possibly persuade some of them to introduce me to new aspects of BDSM, it seems doubtful that any of them are attending KinkFest with the intention of introducing me to sex.

Dagnabbit.

I’m not going to hang a sign around my neck announcing my virginity and hope that someone takes pity on me. I know for a fact that doesn’t work. (How do I know that doesn’t work? Heh. How do you think I spent the first night in the dungeon at last year’s KinkFest?)

But I suspect that while my focus shouldn’t be on the hope of FINALLY having sex, that’s where my obsessive-compulsive brain is going to place it. (“Oh my God, look at her! I wonder if she’d be willing to take my virginity? Ooh, look at her . . . she’s got such sexy lips . . . I wonder if I could get her to give me my first blowjob? I bet that at least ONE of these people would be willing to have sex with me . . .”)

I’d like to just stab my stupid brain with a red-hot poker and make it shut the fuck up, but I have a feeling if I did that, I’d probably have difficulty absorbing the information that I’m actually there to learn.

Stupid obsessive-compulsive brain. Can’t concentrate with it, can’t think without it.

My Dance Card Echoes

I’ve been working on trying to find some play partners for dungeon party time.

Been sending out feelers to people on FetLife, only to discover that I am invisible. I’ll send someone an introductory message, saying ‘Hi’ and whatnot . . . and then I never hear back from them again.

Either that, or I send a more detailed message, about how I noticed that they would be attending KinkFest, and that they had interests on their fetish list that coincide nicely with interests on mine. And that if we happen to run into each other and had nothing else on our schedules at that moment, I wouldn’t mind getting together to play in the dungeon.

Some of those messages go unanswered as well. Others are answered, but with a ‘Thanks, but no thanks.”

One person replied that she appreciated being asked, but that she was new to the scene, shy, and wasn’t really looking to play with anyone she didn’t already know, so . . . no. (She then posted a writing on her profile stating that she was looking for new people to play with. Sheesh.)

Twitter

I’ve figured out what I needed to know about using Twitter from my celphone. My plan doesn’t charge any extra for sending ‘tweets’. And I’m allotted 250 messages (sent and received) a month. I also found out exactly when the billing cycle starts, so I know when that chunk of 250 begins anew.

I’ve contacted the people who send me the largest quantity of useless texts, and told them, “OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL YOU PLEASE STOP TEXTING ME!”

So, assuming that I don’t get fed up with trying to work the mind-numbing numeric keypad early on in the event, the current plan is to send frequent updates from KinkFest.

Said updates will obviously appear on my Twitter page, but will also show up on the little Twitter widget on the blog’s sidebar.

Checklist for the Final Stretch

I’ve still got things to do before leaving for the event. Shopping, mainly.

I’ve already started the shopping process. I’ve picked up a jar of peanut butter and a bag of Doritos for the inevitable peanut butter and crushed Doritos on sourdough sandwiches that are always a staple of my convention diet. (Hey, don’t look at me like that. They’re ridiculously tasty.)

I’m putting together a list for a pre-KinkFest Wal*Mart run to pick up the majority of the rest of my various and sundry consumer needs.

I also need to look into getting some sort of toy bag. Sure, right now my ‘toys’ consist of the one lonely paddle I bought at last year’s KinkFest, and a couple of rolls of duct tape (to hopefully be used for bondage purposes, since I can’t tie a knot to save my life), but I’m hoping to pick up some more BDSM gear at the event.

I also want to make another attempt at renting a post office box before KinkFest. I finally received my new voter registration card in the mail (I still can’t believe I had to change my party affiliation just so that I could get another piece of ‘acceptable’ ID to prove to the post office that I am who I say I am).

There’s no specific reason why I expect to need a safe mailing address at the event, but you never know. Maybe I’ll befriend someone with internet limitations similar to my own who wants to become a penpal. Maybe I’ll want to order something from a vendor that they didn’t bring with them (or that they sold out of before I got to their table). Who knows?

(Maybe I’ll run into a really hot chick who’s biggest fetish is guys who rent post office boxes. And after just one look at that key on my keyring, and she’ll do anything I say.)

The Top Ramen Chronicles Continue

I wonder . . . do you suppose that the hotel would be upset if I brought the remainder of my Top Ramen stockpile with me to the convention, opened up all the packages, and dumped them into the hot tub?

I just figure that I’ve had so much of the stuff going into me for the past two months, that I should probably try to equalize it’s effect by experiencing it on the outside of my body as well, and sitting in a hot tub full of the stuff seems like the easiest way to go about that. Yes? No?

No? Okay. Well, it was just a thought.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Inebriation Play

I was going through my stack of “Porn” discs the other day. CD-Rs and DVD-Rs filled with all manner of porn clips and pirated films obtained via the Bit Torrent network that have ended up in my hands throughout the past few years.

The porn that’s been living on my computer has been there for awhile now, and had gotten . . . what? Boring? Maybe less ‘inspirational’. And since new porn is difficult to come by (well, easy to cum by, difficult to obtain), I thought I’d swap most of the current stuff out for some material that I hadn’t seen in a long while.

Anyway, while going through the stack of disks, I found a couple of clips of women who were either authentically drunk or just faking it for the camera. Only very loosely inhibited, giggly, stumbling around, falling down drunk. Whenever I see a drunk woman in porn, I always think, “Now THAT’S the woman for me!”

Question of Consent

If she says ‘yes’, then its sex. If she says ‘no’ (and means it – it’s not part of a BDSM scene or anything where only the safeword really means ‘no’), then its rape. Seems pretty black and white.

But . . .

What if she’s drunk . . . and says ‘yes’ when she’s really not capable of making a reasoned and rational decision due to being in that inebriated state? What if the alcohol induces her to say ‘yes’ to an offer that she would say ‘no’ to on any other occasion?

I don’t know. I’d tend to argue that was non-consent.

What if she doesn’t say ‘no’ (doesn’t say, ‘no’, or ‘stop’, or ‘please don’t’, or even use her safeword), doesn’t struggle, and really, even kind of helps the process along – but the reason for this is because she’s so far gone that she’s about to slide into unconsciousness. She’ll still respond when you call her name, but it won’t be long before she’s out cold.

Yeah, that’s rape.

What if she’s always wanted to have sex with you, but never had the nerve to ask, and has drank just enough to proposition you, and finally realize one of her biggest fantasies?

Uh, what? That’s sex.

What if she doesn’t like sex because of a chronic pain condition, and the alcohol reacts with her painkillers just enough to numb the pain so that she can have you bring her to orgasm before she goes out like a light.

Sex.

What if she’s depressed and has self-esteem issues? And knows that she blacks out if she drinks too much? What if – half drunk and climbing – she rationally agrees to have sex with you because she knows she won’t remember it in the morning, ergo (to her way of thinking) it won’t have even really happened.

Um . . . can I use one of my lifelines here? Phone a friend? Poll the audience?

Sex. Rape. Black and white. Add drunk into the mix and it goes all swirly gray on me.

And yet . . . whenever I see a drunk woman in porn, I always think, “Now THAT’S the woman for me!”

If a drunk woman offered me sex, would I accept it? Of course n—, wait, how drunk? Are we talking just a little tipsy, or a full blown pink-elephant watcher?

I would like to say that (outside of ‘inebriation play’ – which I’ll talk about shortly) I would not take advantage of someone who was drunk. And I’m sure that once I’ve lost my virginity and maybe had sex a few times beyond that I’ll be able to say that with certainty. No sex with the drunk. However, right now I’m desperate and ready to explode. I don’t intend to take advantage of anyone. (In fact, I specifically intend NOT to take advantage of anyone.) But I honestly don’t know which is stronger: My willpower, or my 38 years of pent-up sexual frustration.

Drunk Fantasy vs. Inebriation Play

I do know that I would like to have consensual sex with a woman under the influence of alcohol. The porn clips make it look like fun.

(Yes, there’s probably aspects of ‘objectification of women’ in there. And I apologize if that offends anybody. But when I’m horny, when my cock is hard, and when I’m watching a drunk woman having sex on my computer monitor – I really don’t care all that much. At that moment I’m far too busy thinking with my dick to have social consciousness, political correctness, and women’s issues in mind.)

Given my earlier listed concerns over whether or not someone who is drunk can legitimately consent to sex, just how do I suppose I could get this consent? Easy. By asking for sex before they ever start drinking.

No new ideas under the sun, everything’s already been done, blah blah blah . . . I can’t possibly be inventing this. But on the other hand, I’ve never heard of it. Now, granted, I’m not an expert at sex or BDSM or anything, but really, the only reference to alcohol that I’ve ever seen in my kink research has been along the lines of safety warnings. “Don’t drink and fuck.” “Don’t drink and play.”

But ‘don’t drink and fuck’ is probably for the very reasons I’ve outlined above. And ‘don’t drink and play’ just makes sense. Yeah, let’s both get smashed on vodka and then I’ll lock you up in chains and then start swinging a whip around. (Yikes!)

In fact, every dungeon whose rules and code of conduct that I’ve read (or at least skimmed over while online) has some rule to the effect that if you appear to be either drunk or high, your ass gets tossed out onto the street to play no more.

But while inebriation play is a sexual act that most likely fits under the BDSM umbrella, it would really only involve the one drunk person, and no dangerous equipment.

Although . . . the more I think about it, the more classic BDSM uses I can find for it.

It’s more RACK (Risk-Aware Consensual Kink) than SSC (Safe, Sane, Consensual). Let’s face it, alcohol is a poison. You drink too much (especially too fast), and you can get alcohol poisoning and die. Or choke to death on your own vomit. Or lapse into a coma. Whee!

[I normally just laugh at my own typos, correct them, and then go on my merry way. But as I’m sitting here proofreading this document, I just discovered that one of the dangers of alcohol is that you could ‘lapse into a come’. I got so drunk I ejaculated? Wow!]

Play with bondage all you want. Cuffs, chain, rope. Cuffs, chain, rope. Cuffs, chain, rope. Sooner or later, you’re bound to want to try something new. (Great. Now I’m on the run from the pun police.)

Normally in BDSM your limbs are restrained. But with inebriation play, you have the opportunity to have them free . . . but still not really have full control of them. Clumsy, stumbling around. Knocking things over instead of picking things up. Plus, while I’ve seen catalog images for every other conceivable body-part restraint, bondage has yet to develop a brain-cuff. But confusion, difficulty comprehending, difficulty remembering . . . you can buy that by the bottleful.

Sensory deprivation play with blurriness instead of blindness. The classic ‘in vino veritas’ notion to loosen the tongue for interrogation play. And, hey – confusion, sleepiness, and all that . . . you could do ‘sleep deprivation’ play without the 72-hour build up of being awake before play-time.

But I’ve gotten way off track from where I was going. The reason that I see inebriation play as fitting under the BDSM umbrella is both because it is a RACK activity, and because it is something that would almost certainly require at least some form of scene negotiation.

Scene Negotiation

“Would you like to get really drunk and then have sex with me?” What kind of a woman answers ‘yes’ to that question? (No, really, I’m actually asking you this question – because I’d like to find her.)

For the purposes of this scenario, I’m going to assume that it’s just a generally sexually adventurous woman who hasn’t yet tried inebriation play as a negotiated scene, and wants to. (I could come up with other types, bit it’s getting late, and despite my intake having been nothing but water tonight, I’m starting to feel like I’VE had one to many.)

So, say that a guy like me finds his adventurous woman with an interest in trying out inebriation play. Ground rules have to be established. Limits set (soft, hard, and otherwise). And so on.

Sane people would make the obvious agreement that the sex in question must be safe sex. Yes, I know that classically, sex-while-drunk leads to things like STD transmission and pregnancy, but this isn’t your typical sex-while-drunk. So: condoms required.

Do these sexually adventurous people know each other? Trust each other? Public play is one possible solution to making sure that he doesn’t take advantage of the woman he’s taking advantage of by taking advantage of her. (Yes, I like that sentence. It’s a keeper.) Another possibility is a chaperone situation. Someone she trusts who knows what all of her rules are, and will make sure that he abides by them.

Pictures? Video? Is he allowed to take photos of her, naked, drunk, and just-fucked? Is he allowed to shoot video? For that matter, is he required to shoot video? If I agreed to participate in sex I was pretty sure I wouldn’t remember clearly (if at all) after the act, I’d want the option of being able to sit down and watch my drunken antics while sober the next day. (Of course, I’d probably immediately tape over it with static from a dead channel after watching it, but at least I’d’ve experienced it – as a spectator, if nothing else.)

Then come the big questions: What are her limits?

I’ve thought about this, and it seems to me that the terms ‘soft limit’ and ‘hard limit’ would have slightly different meanings for inebriation play than they would for normal BDSM activities.

You ask for her limits, and she’ll tell you the things that she doesn’t do. But then you have her separate out the hard limits. A category who’s heading is, “If you let me do these things while drunk, I’ll KILL YOU when I sober up”. What’s left are the soft limits, which are now defined as, “I don’t do any of this stuff. Not ever. But, if it turns out that I want to – or that you can convince me to – when I’m drunk, then I guess that’s what happens. No harm, no foul.”

So, take something like anal sex. She either 1.) does it regularly, and it’s an acceptable activity for your evening; 2.) hasn’t ever been drunk enough to try it; or 3.) will kill you if you fuck her ass, regardless of whether she asks for it while drunk or not.

I’m told that scene negotiation also typically includes pertinent medical information (I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never done a scene negotiation – I’m so lonely!) For this kind of scene you’d also need information on alcohol tolerance – how fast you get drunk, how much you can handle, etc.

Uh . . . Other Stuff?

Aftercare should involve drinking lots of water, as good hydration aids in hangover prevention.

Yeah, that single sentence didn’t really need it’s own subheading. It’s bedtime. I’m pretty sure that I’ll readdress this topic at some point. But right now it’s time to address my pillow.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Amateur Nude

Back when I had internet access – Hell, even when I still had occasional download privileges through my sister’s internet access – I would occasionally snag batches of nude photos off of the bittorrent peer-to-peer network. Folders full of .gifs and .jpgs with titles like ‘RealWives&Girlfriends’, ‘Digital Hotties’, ‘Amateur Porn Shots’, and ‘Nude GFs’.

[Those were the good old days. Now my sole internet access involves me going to the library of a Catholic seminary just up the hill from where I live. A place where the computers have serious content filters.]

I’ve got a digital camera. (A collaborative birthday gift from my brother, my sister, my sister’s fiancĂ© (then boyfriend) and my pal Zorch from several years ago.) This gives me everything I need to start taking nude photographs of my own . . . except for the models. (And, of course, any sort of talent with a camera.)

Have camera. Need models. Hmm. Have camera and a blog, need models. To paraphrase the immortal (and fictional) Spider Jerusalem, “I feel a post coming on.”

The Original Nude Model Scheme

I’ve wanted a nude model since before I had any visual aspirations for one. Way back in the day, Casper (not his real name) and I would sometimes muse about saving up and pooling our money to hire someone to pose nude for us. (In the original plan it was Rocket Girl (not her real name), whom we not only thought might have the proper personality to actually do such a thing, but who we also both wanted to see naked. Go figure.)

Casper is an artist, and therefore had a classic (and therefore legitimate) reason to want a nude model. He wanted to draw her. (He’d actually already modeled a character after her for a comic book project he was thinking about doing.) Me, on the other hand, . . . my reasons were far less traditional. Yet I didn’t see that making them any less valid. I had no talent with visual arts. But as a writer, I wanted to describe her.

Had this little scenario actually happened, Rocket Girl would have been the first woman I’d’ve seen naked. My first opportunity to actually see what it is that a writer is supposed to describe when he describes a naked woman.

I’m not sure why Casper and I never pursued this idea more than we did. It probably had something to do with trying to save money at a time in our lives when bands we liked were putting out CDs for us to purchase, and similar financial follies of youth.

Amateur Nude Photography

Now I want women to pose naked for me so that I can photograph them. Unlike the original plan for enticing Rocket Girl, there’s no small wad of folding green to exchange hands for the privilege. (In fact, any day now I’m going to have to stop breathing because I can’t afford to pay my air bill.)

As the subheading indicates, this would be amateur nude photography, as opposed to regular nude photography. The difference in my mind being my lack of photographic skills.

I look at the viewscreen on my camera, try and make sure that what I’m making this effort to take a picture of is actually visible in the frame, and then push the button. That’s the height of my photographic expertise.

Things like lighting, composition, uh— other things in the same category as lighting and compositison . . . I have simply no clue. Right now, it’s just point and shoot and hope that a half-way decent photo is the result.

Several weeks ago on PostSecret, I saw a submission that was one of the most profound pieces of wisdom I’ve ever encountered. This poor soul’s secret was: “I would do anything to be able to draw, except practice drawing.”

That so perfectly summarizes my relationship to so many of my lacking skill sets it isn’t even funny. Including, I suppose, photography. My determination to become a (semi-) competent photographer is through a trial-and-error process. I’m more willing to have my early photos suck than I am to shoot extra photos just for practice. Just to learn the craft.

Of course, this almost HAS to be the case for my nude photography experiments. It’s not like I’ve got women lining up and striping down to be models, let alone ‘just for practice’ models.

Amateur Nude Models

The end result of a nude woman having her picture taken by an amateur photographer is amateur nude photography. So how much more authentically ‘amateur’ would the photo be if the people were unskilled or nonprofessionals on both sides of the camera?

I like real people. Normal, everyday, you can see them walking down the street type people. Now, I’m not saying that professional models aren’t ‘real people’. They’re obviously real. But in terms of their profession, they’re usually heavily made-up, incredibly well-lit, and then to top it all off, air-brushed. (If not Photoshopped.)

I can’t think of the last time that I bought a porn magazine that wasn’t specific to the foot fetish. Because the normal adult magazines? The Penthouse that was the sexual bible of my youth? It has become replaced. I get my dirty stories from Literotica.com, and I get my nude pictures from amateur picture packs downloaded off of bittorrent. (Or at least I did. If I don’t get an uncensored internet connection soon, I might actually go out and buy a damn Penthouse.)

Now, I’m not saying that I’d ever turn down a professional nude model if they wanted to let me grab some static images of their naked form with my little digital camera. I’m just saying that I’m more than happy creating amateur nude photos where ‘amateur’ is a fully balanced equation.

Motives

Why do I want nude photos? Heh. Why does any mentally oversexed but physically UN-sexed pervert want nude photos?

Seriously, though . . . I do have reasons that I consider to be more legitimate than just having some nice images on the computer to drool over.

I’d like to produce some art. That’s right. Art. The kind of stuff that a trendy person frames and hangs on their wall. I’ve got artistic photo-essay type layouts in my head that require a nude model for me to realize.

Just like the core reasons behind the abandoned Rocket Girl project, I’d like to take some reference photos, to increase my understanding of the female form. Especially since I’ve entered Literotica.com’s ‘Literotica Survivor’ contest this year, and will need to crank out countless works of erotic/pornographic fiction in order to not embarrass myself come the final tally of points.

Lets see . . . art, reference, photos to jack off to, what else? Material for the blog, possibly, if I can find some exhibitionists willing to allow me to post their photos on-line. Otherwise, just more photos for The Private Collection.

The Private Collection

During one of the ‘on-again’ stages of the ‘on-again/off-again’ period of my relationship with CJ, she got a webcam which she used primarily as a means of taking digital photos.

Some of those photos were of herself. And in some of them, she neglected to wear any clothing. On very, very rare occasions, instead of wearing clothing, she would insert a sex toy into one of her body cavities before snapping the picture. I gotta tell you, there were days when I found some very interesting/arousing attachments in my email.

Over the course of several months, I received a total of 20 photos of CJ. She sent the first one only after asking for (and receiving) assurance that these photos would remain in my private collection, and wouldn’t be distributed in any way, shape, or form – and certainly not on the internet.

For years, these photos (with the addition last year of a topless photo of the ex-girlfriend of a friend of mine) have compromised the entirety of The Private Collection. 21 photos, not a one of which I took myself.

As I’ve said, I’d like to photograph some willing exhibitionists, who would let me post their photos in the blog, or on a Flickr account as part of a photo-essay or themed work. (Does Flickr allow nudes? If not, then whichever photo hosting site does.)

But at this early stage, my desire to start taking nude photos is greater than my desire to be able to use nude photos in my work. So I have no problems with simply bulking up The Private Collection with my own work. Not to be shown around to everyone I know, never to be distributed, online or otherwise. Just for me.

Half Nekkid Thursday

I really would like to occasionally participate in HNT, thought. Half-Nekkid Thursday. The day of the week when a lot of sex bloggers post partly nekkid photos (either of themselves, or that they’ve taken) on their blogs.

Although . . . now that I think about it . . . my camera does have a 12 second timer. Which would give me time to put an area in the viewscreen range, click the timer, and then run my half-naked body around to the other side just in time to be immortalized as a digital image.

But then, my goal is to increase my readership – not make the few readers I have now sick. Partially nude 450 lb man? Probably not the original point of HNT.

KinkFest

I’m bringing my digital camera with me to KinkFest at the end of March. Sure, cameras aren’t allowed in the workshops, the vendor’s area, or the dungeon. But I should be able to keep one in my hotel room, right?

There are several people in FetLife’s KinkFest group that I’d really love the opportunity to photograph. I’m planning to make contact with some of these people between now and the event, and get their thoughts about coming to my hotel room (or letting me into theirs) for a photo session.

(KinkFest is once again being built up in my mind as this grand island of potential in my otherwise limited and shut-in existence.)

There are certain people I really want to photograph for various specific projects. (Not all of them even nude – although if they’re willing . . . ) Several redheads. A couple of girls named Stephanie. (‘Girls named Stephanie’ is a common fetish, right? Sure it is.) A handful of others for various physical features or seeming personality quirks.

I’m actually tempted to go through the list of everyone who’s clicked the ‘Yes, I’m Attending’ box on the FetLife’s KinkFest Event Page, then check the profile of all the women, looking for the ones whose fetish lists include ‘erotic photography’ and ‘exhibitionism’. Then send a private message to ALL of those people that include a link to this blog entry.

The Current Working Projects

So. Since I can never seem to do anything simply . . . these are the SEVEN categories (yikes) of ‘project’ that my initial work all wants to be divided into.

The first one isn’t even a nude pornography project, but since I’m seeking out sexy redheads to photograph anyway . . . My pal Zorch has this theory about redheads (which I’ll elaborate on more in my eventual post about redheads) that made me decide it needs photographic evidence. Basically, what I’m after is headshots of redheads with and without their red hair. No, I’m not asking them to shave or dye between photos. It would be ideal if I owned a set of non-red women’s wigs, but since I don’t, I’m going to see what I can find in the way of inexpensive (opaque) shower caps.

Me being me, the second project is the requisite foot fetish project. The photographs could be as simple as a woman’s bare feet. Although I have many non-simple photo poses in mind as well. (Especially if she’s flexible.)

Moving further into the fully nude stuff, I want to shoot a series on tattoos. Close-ups of the artwork, longshots illustrating placement on the body. (I also want to hear the stories behind the tats.) Photos of women wearing nothing but tattoo ink.

The next project is something that I really, really want to do, and I don’t fully understand why. I don’t have a fetish for it. It doesn’t turn me on (although, it doesn’t seem to turn me off, either). I can trace the origin of my interest in pursuing an erotic photo essay of this material to a conversation I had a long time ago. But I honestly couldn’t explain why it feels as important to me as it does. I want to photograph surgical scars.

That’s it. Nude photos of women with surgical scars. Photos of the women. Photos of the scars. There’s art in that. Serious art. I can feel it in my bones. I’m just not exactly sure what I’m ‘meant’ to do with it.

Next up – as a writer (specifically a burgeoning erotica/porn writer) I want to put together a photographic reference to the female anatomy. Not, ‘this is what a woman looks like’, but ‘this is what a woman you’ve gotten to look closely at looked like, remember?’ Everything from encyclopedia-photo quality nudes, to poses, to gynecological shots. Since I don’t have a woman willing to let me explore her physically, I’d really like as ‘next best thing’ as I can get.

Continuing with the writing theme, I’d like to start taking other photos (nude and otherwise) for erotic story reference. Not for the purposes of understanding the feminine geography, but for both character inspiration and models to aid in description of particular physical types.

The final project is more of a ‘catch all’ than a specific category. The description of the photos in the final category is ‘whatever the models would let me get away with’. Would I be happy to take photos of a woman who was naked from the waist up, pushing her breasts towards the camera? Yes. Would I be happier if she were completely naked and spreading her legs for the lens? Yes.

But knowing that I’d be happier photographing her vagina doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten that I’d still be happy just photographing her breasts. I want nude models, and I’ll take what I can get – and be thankful for it. I’ll be grateful for anyone who agrees to pose for me.

That having been said, I want as much as I can get. Full nude, multiple poses, rolling around on a bed? Great. In bondage gear? Even better! In fact, exhibiting all manner of BDSM behavior and accoutrements? Yes, please! Letting me write on her naked body with washable markers before the next photo? Wonderful. Penetrating herself with a banana? Let’s just hope I got the picture taken before I collapsed, overwhelmed with fetishistic joy.

So, anyway, that’s where I want to start. Volunteer nudes. Seven categories. Learning this stuff by trial and error. And hopefully, starting out by snapping pictures in a hotel room at KinkFest.