Thursday, June 10, 2010

Procrasturbation - Writing About May in June

Well, here I am, once again posting 'something completely different' in the middle of what should be a consecutive string of multi-part posts. If you’re sitting there in the future, reading this in the blog archive, then nothing else should seem amiss to you (hopefully). But those of you reading this more-or-less in realtime may have noticed that the space where Part Two of the KinkFest report is supposed to be is still occupied by a placeholder for that particular post. Because while the computer is once again up and running, there was some file loss, and one of the newly corrupted files in question was that one. And I haven’t yet started the post’s reconstruction from the (also partly corrupt) memory systems packed into my skull.

That post – along with the two final posts in the ‘KinkFest Report’ series – will happen, they’re just taking longer than I’d hoped.

Anyway, I’ve finally convinced my obsessive-compulsive disorder-addled brain to drop it’s insistence that parts #3 and 4 of the KinkFest Report be Time Delay posts #98 and 99 so that I could move on to other things in the meantime. Like the now belated report on National Masturbation Month. Speaking of which . . .

Guess What I Did In May?

May. National Masturbation Month. The time of year when it’s okay – not only okay, but actually expected – for you to put on an outlandish costume and go door-to-door, begging for candy.

Wait, no – that’s not right. That’s not right at all. That’s Halloween, not National Masturbation Month. Now I understand why my neighbors were all looking at me funny.

Never mind. Start over.

May. National Masturbation Month. The time of year when it’s okay – not only okay, but actually encouraged – for you to stroke your erection until you ejaculate. (Or if you’re a girl, spin your vulvawheel until it lands on ‘Orgasm’. Yes, everything I know about female anatomy I made up while watching ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Why do you ask?)

Anyway, I spend part of May jacking off. Whee! Although, not as much of May as I had originally intended . . .

Oh! I Was Just Supposed To Fuck My Hand?

The first week in May was the key. I spent the first half of that week fucking my hand, just like the good little celebrant I am. But by the end of that week, instead of continuing to fuck my hand, I had somehow managed to fuck up my hand instead. Couldn’t hold a pen or a pencil. Couldn’t use a butter knife. Couldn’t jack off.

My body has been host to a revolving inventory of aches, pains, and cramps of various intensities for over twenty years now. I’d been having minor problems with my right hand since mid-to-late April. But that first week in May, a pain developed in the middle of the night that woke me from a sound sleep. Bad but tolerable in and below my middle and ring fingers if I’m not doing anything with them. Excruciating if I bend them or try to lift any weight with that hand.

Like an idiot, I just typed the words, “It’s better now” and then had to delete that. I’ve said it so often to people who have asked, “How’s your hand” out of a sense of duty-bound politeness that it’s become a stock answer. The truth is, I’ve simply become accustomed to the pain being there.

The doctor wants to wait and see if it goes away on it’s own, but if not, he’s pretty sure it will mean another injection of cortisone for me. Whee. (The period instead of exclamation mark at the end of the single-word sentence ‘whee’ denotes heavy, heavy sarcasm. Just in case you were wondering.)

Weird Little Aside

I just used the word ‘sarcasm’ in a post about masturbation, and somehow it seems like it should have a different definition, or at least be used in a different context. Just the sound of it. Sarcasm. Follow my train of thought here:

I pumped my dick until I had an orgasm.
I pumped my wit until I had a sarcasm.

Maybe not. I don’t know.

The Running Total

Just as soon as the release of orgasm meant more to me than not suffering the pain of wrapping my poor fucked up hand around my cock and pumping for however long it took, I went right back to it.

Last year (when I still had a celphone), I used my Twitter account heavily throughout May, sending out a tweet every time I jacked off. My official 2009 National Masturbation Month Masturbation Count was 42. (Which, if you’re a big Douglas Adams fan, raises some interesting possibilities for the Ultimate QUESTION to Life, the Universe, and Everything.)

I’d hoped to beat (ha ha, I said ‘beat’) last year’s count, but that was just not to be.

I started the month out well. At the end of May 2nd, the running total was 7 acts of masturbation. But the total at month’s end was only 30. Just fractionally less than an average of once a day.


Of course, these 30 acts of masturbation weren’t accomplished in a mental void.

While my hand was a blur on my cock, my brain was in it’s exercise wheel, running as fast as it’s little anthropomorphic brain legs to carry it. Processing the story or letter to Penthouse I was reading. Or processing the porn I was watching. Or processing the sexual fantasies being projected onto the big screen in my head.

The letters from Penthouse are all from my stockpile of Penthouse magazines. (Obviously.) The stories were all things I found on on the rare occasion that I found myself somewhere with uncensored internet. The visual porn is courtesy of old, old downloads, and a company called SugarDVD (which is basically Netflix for porn DVDs). And the fantasies all sprang from my fevered imagination.

I couldn’t begin to tell you what I stroked myself to, story and letter-wise during National Masturbation Month. It was always just whatever I was in the mood for.

The video porn I can be much more specific about. I can break it down into three categories. About 10% of the time it was – just like with the stories – whatever miscellaneous piece of porn I was in a specific mood for. Roughly 30% of the time it was the Rebbeca Riley scene from “Footsie 2”. Little foot fetish girl getting fucked on a casting couch, her bare feet all over the guy fucking her. Yes, please.

The other 60-ish% of the time, it was a Violet Blue scene from “Kick Ass Chicks #45 – Pigtails”. VB played a nerd girl seducing a musician away from his (unseen) cheerleader girlfriend. That scene just absolutely mesmerized me. [Keep this in mind, we’ll come back to it later on in the post.]

And then, of course, beyond other people’s written or scripted sex, I did actually have a few naughty thoughts of my own. Almost all of my May masturbation fantasies involved the Darklady’s forthcoming Masturbate-a-Thon party. Fantasies about meeting new people and doing things to them. Thoughts about meeting new people and having them do things to me. Fantasies about being a bad boy and ignoring the ‘masturbation’ theme, and finding somebody to take my virginity. (Usually my core heterosexual virginity, but sometimes the fantasy ran to me losing one of the more non-traditional virginities.) Fantasies about a physical encounter with Darklady herself. Oh, my – the physical encounter with Darklady fantasies I had. Masturbation-themed, mutual masturbation-themed, BDSM-themed, and generally sexually-themed. (At least twice my brain fell off its exercise wheel it was so shocked!)

Another Weird Little Aside

Baby New Year. Cupid. Leprechauns. The Easter Bunny. Uncle Sam. An entire catalog of monsters, spooks, practitioners, familiars, and pumpkin-headed weirdos. The turkey. Santa Claus. The ‘old man’ counterpart to baby new year.

Most of the major holidays have one. A symbol. Mascot. Spokesperson. Mythological character. However you define it and whatever you want to call it.

So who represents National Masturbation Month?

I asked myself this question . . . at about 3:30 am. After I’d taken the pills that let me sleep, but before they’d kicked in. The next morning, according to the notepad I keep on a clipboard next to where I sleep, my initial thoughts on a National Masturbation Month representative were a two-headed hermaphrodite named Pumpy (alternately spelled Pumpie), with a tattoo of a pumpkin on one ass-cheek, and a tattoo of a spider on the other.

What. The. Fuck?

Pumpie, sure. Pump your cock. Pump a dildo in and out of your pussy. Pumpkin tat, sure. Pumpie being stylistically short for pumpkin. I have no idea what the spider tat was for. I have no idea why I thought any of it had seemed like a good enough idea to write down.

I still want to know who represents National Masturbation Month. But I’m now pretty sure I shouldn’t have a hand in that selection process. Certainly not at bedtime.

The Portland Masturbate-a-Thon

Usually held right at the end of May, this year, Portland’s Masturbate-a-Thon – much like this National Masturbation Month report you’re reading now – is being held over until June.

And Darklady has had a long, weird road getting this one off the ground. This time, the event is taking place right where she lives – literally. Because after a venue mishap or two, the tenth anniversary Masturbate-a-Thon is returning to its house party roots.

The party theme has gone from “A Decade of Decadence” to “Back to Basics – And What’s More Basic Than Masturbating In a Basement?”

[I swear, there’s got to be some crude anal sex joke based off of a permutation of the phrase ‘I’d like to masturbate in your basement’, but I just can’t seem to locate it.]

I’ve managed to find a ride to and from Darklady Estates, and the stalker in me is so excited to finally see where she lives. [Kidding. Sort of.]

In all of the pre-party information, we’ve learned that among the entertainment for the evening will be a handful of performers from the adult entertainment industry. Including Amber Chase, Sofia St. James, and Noname Jane. None of these three were names that I was familiar with, so I attempted to research them as best I could using the heavily filtered internet at the library. And while I couldn’t really get any info on the first two, it turned out that Noname Jane had a Wikipedia page.

Her current moniker of ‘Noname Jane’ is a response to losing a court case brought against her by a sex journalist whose pseudonym was the same as Noname Jane’s original working name in the adult film industry. The courts decreed that the sex journalist had the rights to the name, and so the porn actress would have to find a new name.

So just what was the name in question? Violet Blue. That’s right. Appearing at Datklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon will be the porn actress I kept jacking off to all throughout May. The woman I kept staring at and thinking, “My God, I’d like to suck on her toes” while playing with myself. (Oh, and I thought a few other things, too.)

Next Year

Next year’s National Masturbation Month will be better. I’ll masturbate more. My overall masturbation count will be higher. And not only will I jack my cock, but I’ll find someone who will let me stroke their clit to an orgasm as well for the whole mutual masturbation ‘points’.

Time Delay’s National Masturbation Month coverage will be better next year, too. There will be some sort of ‘Welcome to National Masturbation Month’ post to open up the month, in addition to an end of month report discussing how my celebration of the month went. And I’ll discuss the topic throughout the month. I’ll post about all of the places I’ve masturbated in my life. I’ll talk about having masturbated CJ way back in the day. (Maybe I’ll even talk about having masturbated ON CJ way back in the day.)

The above statements are things I believe to be true. They are my plan. Of course, last year, that was all kind of my plan for this year, and that all fell through. But next year for sure. Really.

I know it. So . . . it’ll either happen just like it says in the above paragraphs, or it’s a fantasy that my obsessive-compulsive brain is currently masturbating to.

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