Why I Need to Find a Slut and What Kind of Slut I Need to Find

I want to have sex. I need to have sex. (Hey, are you doing anything right now? Would you like to have sex with me?) It won’t be very long before my list of requirements for a partner are simply ‘consenting and has a pulse’. And I’d really, really like to have sex before my standards slip down below even that.

Condensed Synopsis From a Failed First Draft

Okay, so, my first attempt at writing this piece was noticeably way too long before I even got into the subject matter indicated in the post’s title.

I started off with a sort of half-assed apology to anyone who might be offended by my use of the word ‘slut’ (as I know that there are women out there who see the word as their gender’s equivalent epithet to the infamous ‘n-word’). It was about half-apology, half justification, and wasn’t especially all that well written. (I’d like to think it would have polished right up into linguistic brilliance during the second draft, but since I never finished the first draft of that particular version of this post, it never got that far.)

Then I went on to talking about my now legendary status as a 39 year old male virgin living in 21st century America. And how I’d desperately like that status to change so that I was a sexually active etc., etc. Long-time readers of the blog already know all of this (all three of you), as do my ever-growing legion of Japanese spam-bot followers. (Domo arigoto, virtual roboto!) Any new readers have now been clued in to that fact by this paragraph.

After that I went on (and on (and on)) about self-esteem issues, feelings of failure, being the outsider at ‘sex-positive’ gatherings, and the like. Wow, did I go on. I recently had an experience at a Darklady event that made me want to step out into traffic, and I think that heavily influenced some of my thoughts there. Plus the heat and light of the sun had been playing havoc with my ever-present headache that day, so much of it was written while on Vicodin. (“Do not operate heavy machinery while on this medication” is all well and good, but where’s the warning about writing while on the stuff, huh?)

This section is about 350 words long. It encapsulates about 1600 words worth of stuff from the first draft I clearly wasn’t all that happy with. You’re welcome.

What Is This ‘Slut’ You Speak Of?

Slut. Back in olden days of yore, the word referred to a woman who was dirty, untidy, or slovenly. Basically, if you had poor hygiene and/or a messy house, you were a slut.

It could also mean a scullery maid. If you worked in the kitchen, you were a slut.

(And, it was apparently sometimes used as a synonym for ‘bitch’. If you were a female canine, you were a slut.)

In more recent days . . . of . . . yore(?) . . . the word slut came to mean a woman of loose morals and low character. But what they really meant by that definition was an unmarried woman who (Gasp! Shock!) had sex. And enjoyed it.

In these modern days (probably yoreless) the sex-positive crowd is reclaiming ‘slut’ as a positive word rather than the insult and epithet that it’s been used as for the past 600 years.

The Kink/Fetish/BDSM crowd tends to use ‘slut’ as a term of endearment. Sometimes a term of empowerment.

Last time I checked (back before the library blocked access to the site from their computers), one of the most popular groups on FetLife was “Sluts, Cunts, and Whores”. The group description said it was for people who either wanted one, or who identified as one. Or just generally for people who were comfortable with and enjoyed their sexuality.

And the first book I always hear recommended during any discussion on the topic of polyamory is entitled “The Ethical Slut”.

Oh, there’s still popular culture’s interpretation of a slut as the party girl who will sleep with pretty much anybody. (Oftentimes because there’s something wrong with her, psychologically.) But more and more, ‘slut’ is starting to simply mean ‘sex-positive’.

Someone who has sex. And enjoys it. (No gasp. No shock.) Claims their sexuality as part of their identity, and presses forward, full throttle. God bless ‘em!

Why I Need to Find a Slut

Actually, I think I already covered this. 39 year old male virgin living in 21st century America, remember?

Wouldn’t I like to have my first time be with someone I have an emotional attachment to? Yes, but it’s been proven to me time and again that this is a scenario that’s just not in the cards for me.

What about turning to a professional for help? Heh. I toyed around with the idea of saving up money to hire an escort. But that didn’t really go all that well.

A couple of months ago I set some money aside, figuring that if I did that every month, I’d reach my ‘escort payment’ goal in about six months or so. Sadly, not having that money in my account where it really belonged caused me to overdraw. The massive overdraft charges caused me to overdraw the next month as well. I did everything I could to not overdraw a third month in a row, including neglecting to pay a few bills. Which led to my electricity getting shut off. It’s on again now, but I’m paying a $150 deposit in installments over the next three months. (Which may well cause me to overdraw my account. Aaaaaaarrrrrrrggggghhhh!)

No, what it comes down to is that I need to find myself a naughty girl. A horny chick. A sex-positive woman. Yes, ladies, I’m looking for a modern-day slut.

What Kind of Slut I Need to Find

The easy (and obvious) answer is ‘a slut who’s willing to have sex with me’. But that’s probably a far less specific definition than is required here.

I’m constantly informed by my low self-esteem that what I need is the pop culture slut – the uber-promiscuous sex-addicted party girl who will have sex with anybody. (Yes, even with me.) But I keep trying to ignore my low self-esteem, in the hopes that it will go away.

So, I sit here and consider the possible options as logically as I can. What kind of slut DO I need to find?

There are rumors and legends among my people (my people being great big fat men) of women who are sexually aroused by, well, great big fat men. So much so – the mythology goes – that they simply can’t keep their hands off of us. Sluts for the larger gentleman.

I’m not sure exactly where I place these stories on line of credibility. More likely than the Roswell crash? Less likely than the Loch Ness Monster? I don’t know. I just know that I’ve been classified as obese for going on twenty years now, and I have yet to meet one of these so-called ‘chubby chasers’.

However, if these women really do exist, then – yes, please! The thought of meeting someone who is turned on by my 450+ lb frame rather than revolted by it is definitely a winning option in my book. Someone for whom my being tagged by the ‘BHM’ (big handsome man) euphemism is such a fetishy turn-on that any other potential physical shortcomings fall by the wayside would be a perfect option. So a female ‘fat admirer’ tops my list of potential sluts.

One of the universal sexual fantasies for a guy is that of deflowering a virgin. Dude breaking in a fresh chick. (Or some prose that’s more flowery and poetic, if you prefer.) Virile man bedding an inexperienced young girl and taking her into womanhood on a cascade of pleasure.

It doesn’t seem that the reverse-gender variant is as popularly sought-after a scenario for her – the experienced woman seeking out the virgin male to grant him his magical ‘first time’ – but I have heard that there are women out there who do seek out this situation. Sometimes it’s an addendum to the ‘cougar’ philosophy, where it’s not just the older woman seeking the younger man, but rather the specifically inexperienced younger man. But other times it’s just the joy of running around taking the virginities of men.

Cherry-poppin’ sluts. Another big grand hope in my life.

Then there are those with a specific yearning for the hard-luck case. The sexual charity-work slut. The woman who gets off on the idea of helping satisfy the carnal needs of the disabled, differently-abled, and sexually unable. Similarly would be submissive-leaning types into the service aspect of things, with an special interest in potential tops/doms who fit into the kinky and disabled category.

I can’t believe I didn’t stop and write a few thousand words about my host of medical problems during the aborted first draft of this thing. I could have. I qualify for kinky and disabled. I should qualify for the attentions of those attracted to them.

What Do I Do Once I Find an Interested Slut?

Okay. The overwhelming focus here is/had been/will be the loss of my virginity. I want to fuck. I want the heretofore unexperienced PIV intercourse.

[I’ve been informed by males who have lost their virginity – and women who have taken the virginity of males – that the actual PIV section of my first time is going to last a MAXIMUM of three minutes. So, greedy me, what I really want isn’t just a woman who will let me have sex with her, but a woman who will let me have sex with her twice. Because really, three minutes? I’d like my memories of my first time to include more intercourse than that, with lots of foreplay, afterplay, and betweenplay.]

Of course, I want the full spectrum of sexual activities. Sex. Oral sex, anal sex. Mutual masturbation. Groping, stroking, probing, fondling, licking, sucking, etc. Foreplay leading to sex. Foreplay-style activities for their own sake. Catering-to of fetish and fantasy. And so on.

I’m attracted to all types of women. And I AM hot for the BBWs. But . . . about fifteen years or so ago I found someone (a very sexy, soft, round and plump someone) who had been willing to take my virginity before the realities of physical geometry interfered. Before the discovery that I am (hey, welcome back low self-esteem!) too fat to fuck a BBW. Our interlocking parts did not – could not – get close enough to actually interlock.

I want some sexual playtime with all different types of women, but as far as the actual sexual intercourse thing goes . . . not only do I need to find myself a slut, I need to find myself a thin-to-average sized slut. The classic HWP (height/weight proportionate) girl.

Yeah, I’m not asking for much, am I?

101 in 1001 - The 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days List

. . . and, of course, the old obsessive-compulsive brain insisted that post #101 be about a list of 101 things. Go figure.

So many goals, so little time.

The Backstory

Several years ago I discovered something called the ‘uberlist’. Intended as a replacement for the classic New Year’s Resolutions, which – let’s be honest here – no one ever follows through on anyway, the uberlist was a list of specific goals to accomplish throughout the course of the new year. 95 things to do in 1995, 99 things to do in 1999, 101 things to do in 2001, 110 things to do in 2010, and so on.

I’ve posted about the whole uberlist thing before. In The Top Ten List I talked about how in 2008 I decided to do an ‘naughty’ uberlist in addition to my normal one. A list specifically for Zeitgeist the Clown as opposed to the name listed on my ID cards. Then in 39 Things to Do in Year 39, I did a smaller sex-based uberlist for ZtC, this one being based on how many years in my personal lifetime calendar rather than the more popular one marking off Jesus’ birthdays.

But while I was cruising along, trying-and-failing to make progress on the 39 Things list, I discovered the existence of the Day Zero Project, more commonly known as the 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days List.

The Day Zero Project

The 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days list works just like it sounds like it’d work. You make a list of 101 tasks. You have 1001 days in which to complete those tasks. Simple.

I like it much better than the Uberlist concept.

First of all, my obsessive-compulsive brain approves of the uniformity of the number of tasks as opposed to the constantly increasing calendar-year based list. One hundred and one. Regardless of when you start it. (I also like the fact that – since it isn’t tied to a year – you can start the project whenever you damn well feel like it. January 1st, February 29th, June 9th, August 5th, December 23rd, etc. Whenever.)

The longer stretch of time is also a vast improvement over the uberlist format. Roughly 2.75 years is a much more manageable period in which to tackle 101 tasks than is a single year. It allows me to take on tasks that I can prepare for ahead of time, waiting until year two or three of the list before actually starting.

The only real drawback is that when jotting down the name of the list by hand, there’s really no place on either ‘Day Zero Project’ or ‘101 Things to Do in 1001 Days’ to conveniently stick an umlaut. Did the ‘U’ in ‘Uberlist’ require an umlaut? No, but I sometimes stuck one there anyway. (Hell, I sometimes put an umlaut in the word umlaut. Sometimes I’ll stick in two.)

Umlauts forever! (It’s entirely possible that I’m a wee bit goofy.)

The Day Zero Boilerplate

Originally, the Day Zero project required you to start a blog, reprint their little boilerplate ‘rules’ section (verbatim), and then link your blog back to their main site. Since then, they’ve revamped and upgraded everything, and now the whole project is run off of their website. All centralized. Everybody’s list in one place. No need for your own blog.

I don’t like it.

So, I’m doing it more-or-less the old way. Plugging the 101 in 1001 data into Time Delay, starting with the inclusion of their little boilerplate rules, thusly . . .

The Mission: Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days

The Criteria: Tasks must be specific (ie. No ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (ie. Represent some amount of work on my part).

My 1001 Days

My stretch of 1001 days began on March 1st, 2010. It will end on November 27th, 2012.

I started working on the list sometime around August, with the intention of ‘officially’ putting it into effect last fall, but – well, it’s my usual excuse. Massive pulmonary embolism, hospitalization, etc. I finally decided to start the thing at the beginning of March so that it was up and running before KinkFest, in the hopes of maybe accomplishing some tasks while there.

The actual list of 101 things comes a little later on in this post. And it may look like I ignored some of the criteria. ‘Tasks must be specific (ie. No ambiguity in the wording) with a result that it either measurable or clearly defined.’ Hmm. Whoops.

Here’s the thing – My list is just that. A list. A little checklist of 101 tasks. Yes, there’s ambiguity, and yes, there are examples of undefined results. But that’s because most of the line items on this list aren’t even full sentences. That will be addressed . . .

Progress Reports and Expoundments

In my last post (“The Unavoidable Anniversary Post”) I mentioned that this post was going to be the first of the new ‘category’ posts. And so it is. This first ‘101 in 1001’ post contains the bare bones list. If I’d fleshed the list out and explained everything to my satisfaction, this post would be eleventeen uhquabazillion words long.

After this, the 101 in 1001 category will primarily be concerned with Progress Reports and Expoundments. (My spell checker doesn’t like the word ‘expoundment’. But that doesn’t really surprise me, as it didn’t care for the numbers ‘eleventeen’ or ‘uhquabazillion’, either.)

Progress reports are, simply enough, little updates as to the state of completion of my chosen tasks. During these reports, I’ll let you know when I complete tasks, or when I make notable progress toward completion. Or if I miss the deadline on task #01 and end up blowing my brains out in a state of deep despair. Things like that.

Expoundments are when I expound on the list items, more fully explaining them by turning ‘not even sentences’ into multiple paragraphs.

Okay. This brings us to the list itself.

The “101 Things to Do in 1001 Days” List

001.) Lose my virginity before 12.23.2010

002.) Have sex
003.) Receive oral sex
004.) Penetrate someone anally
005.) Perform oral sex on a Woman
006.) Perform oral sex on a Man
007.) Lose anal virginity

008.) Have sex with Darklady
009.) Have sexual intercourse with Freya
010.) Participate in a group sex experience
011.) Be approached by someone for play (sex, BDSM, or similar)
012.) Set up play partners for events prior to those events
013.) Find a recurring BDSM play partner
014.) Find a(n at least) temporary submissive for the Leatherwoods event

015.) Masturbate a woman (vaginally) with a banana
016.) Fist a woman (vaginally)
017.) Gently masturbate a woman (vaginally) with a baseball bat
018.) Indulge my foot fetish
019.) Engage in ‘watersports’ activities with a woman
020.) Write on a naked woman with Crayola Washable Markers (or the like)
021.) Play with a woman in a hot tub
022.) Play with a strap-on equipped woman
023.) Play with a woman who is in full clown make-up
024.) Engage in age play activities with a woman
025.) Play with a woman costumed as Batgirl
026.) Enjoy Some Non-Penetrative Sex (Tit-Fucking, Axilism, etc)
027.) Beat the previous year’s National Masturbation Month masturbation count (both solo and mutual)
028.) Masturbate for an audience (of at least one)
029.) Be seen naked/reverse barefoot by a crowd
030.) Undress a woman (or women)
031.) Keep a pair of panties as a souvenir

032.) Play with an (otherwise-naked) collared and leased woman
033.) Bind a woman with cuffs, chains, rope, duct tape, or other likely materials
034.) Play with a bound woman (BDSMI)
035.) Dom somebody
036.) Perform some nipple play/breast torture
037.) Spank a woman (and other impact play)
038.) Do some wax play

039.) Have someone suck on my toes

040.) Put together a toybag
041.) Put together a first aid kit
042.) Obtain some sex toys
043.) Obtain some bondage gear
044.) Design/make permanent duct tape bondage gear
045.) Get some creative and odd things for my toybag
046.) Get a flogger and learn to use it
047.) Get a violet wand
048.) Get fetish clothing
049.) Make masks

050.) Get internet access

051.) Blog more often (ideally on a regular schedule)
052.) Go through all of my old Time Delay notes for as-yet unwritten posts, & either write or abandon them
053.) Create a stockpile of written material
054.) Expand the ‘Yes Brodie’ post into a book-length essay
055.) Write a porn screenplay
056.) Script a sexually explicit comic (book or strip)
057.) Write a letter to Penthouse
058.) Reorganize my mammoth stockpile of notes for as-yet unwritten erotic stories
059.) Write some erotica
060.) Enter (and place above 16th in) Literotica Survivor
061.) Write (and ideally perform) some spoken word style performance pieces intended for erotic open mic night

062.) Start selling adult-themed stuff (t-shirts, etc.) through CafePress
063.) Put together a work of erotica (or pornography) to sell through CafePress or Lulu

064.) Find an artist for projects needing art
065.) Collect/commission erotic art

066.) Develop Zeitgeist the Clown as an actual persona
06?.) Build Zeitgeist the Clown as a brand
068.) Pimp the blog and get more readers
069.) Spread the word about BDSMI
070.) Keep FetLife page (and other networking sites) updated
071.) Start a FetLife group
072.) Get a POBox under my scene name
073.) Give a workshop or presentation

074.) Podcast

075.) Start taking erotic/pornographic photos
076.) Open Tumblr site for reposting erotic photos from other Tumblr sites
077.) Take at least one photo for each of my preferred Tumblr tag/categories

078.) Organize my porn collection
079.) Build a better porn collection
080.) Make my own porn compilation
081.) Make my own porn

082.) Make more friends on FetLife
083.) Make real-life friends in the BDSM/kink/sex-positive community
084.) Find/build a network of rides to and from events
085.) Start attending munches
086.) Attend a BDSM/Kink/Sex event (in addition to KinkFest)
087.) Put together a BDSM resume/negotiation worksheet/what-I’m-into list
088.) Give Craigslist another try

089.) Learn some basic rope bondage
090.) Learn a demonstrable BDSM/Kink/Fetish/Sex skill
091.) Read at least 30 non-fiction books on BDSM/Kink/Fetish/Sex topics
092.) Learn how to kiss
093.) Learn some pedicure skills
094.) Research STD risks and safer sex methods

095.) Lose enough weight to have sexual intercourse with a BBW
096.) Build up stamina (sexual and otherwise)
097.) Find a way to fund my BDSM/Kink/Fetish/Sex life
098.) Develop necessary social skills for participation in BDSM/Kink/Sex-positive community
099.) Work on eliminating my OCD-based ‘full disclosure’ problem
100.) Start acting on potential opportunities when presented instead of first endlessly deliberating
101.) Find a brand/make/style of condom that fits

The Unavoidable Anniversary Post

This is Time Delay post #100. Today is the second anniversary of my first post. (First two posts, actually.) It strikes me as the blogging equivalent of one of those rare planetary alignment thingies.

How could the big anniversary post NOT happen when it’s a double anniversary convergence? Really, there was no way to stop it.

This Hadn’t Been the Plan

I hadn’t planned on doing anything big here in the blog for either post #100 or the second anniversary. I figured I’d throw in a little self-indulgent celebratory paragraph between the title and first subheading, and then ignore it thereafter, going onto whatever was the topic at hand. (The intended topic for post #100 has been relocated to post #102.) This was the plan for both #100 and for the 2nd anniversary.

It wasn’t just that I hadn’t planned on devoting a full post to this stuff – I’d actively planned NOT to. Post #100 should have been done ages ago. The fact that it’s only now finally coming out is embarrassing. And the whole second year of the blog was . . . let’s just say ‘disappointing’.

Even when I realized the opportunity to bind post #100 and the 2nd anniversary into a single unit, I wasn’t planning on doing anything more than a simple intro paragraph.

So, what changed?

Mainly, it occurred to me that an anniversary post didn’t need to focus entirely on where the blog has gone – it can just as easily look forward at where it’s going. I’ve had a few changes in mind for awhile now, and I think that maybe by posting an intention to implement them there’ll be a better chance I’ll actually stick to them.

A Quick Chunk of Backstory

Okay, I’ll try and make this slice of personal history as concise as possible: In 1989, I accidentally wrote a novel. (Whoops!) Sat down to write an original short story for a friend’s small press publication, and didn’t type ‘The End’ until I’d written over 77,000 other words before it.

In 1990 I began work on a ‘monthly’ (it averaged more like bimonthly from start to finish, but not that cleanly) Max Headroom fanzine.

From 1991 to the beginning of 1993 I didn’t do a damn thing.

[Okay, I did some small stuff. I wrote a few things for other peoples fanzines. I started writing a few stories that were doomed to incompletion. And, of course, somewhere during that time period was the stuff with Dot (not her real name). Which, in addition to being a catastrophic pseudo-relationship, also managed to produce a doomed-to-rejection Star Trek-The Next Generation screenplay.]

Yes, I was having medical problems, but there were long stretches of time where my word count was zero, and the health stuff really only counted for a diminished output, not a ceased output. So, I was excuseless.

Then, over the course of about a week in 1993, nearly everybody I knew got on my case for not writing anything. To this day I don’t know if it was extended coincidence, or an elaborately planned episodic intervention. But it caused me to start a new zine.

No real consistent theme or topic. Just whatever was on my mind at the time, I guess. Over the next four years, I produced somewhere between 36 and 39 issues (depending on how you count them). Just over half a million words.

From there I moved on to a different zine, from there I moved to an e-zine, from there I moved to a blog, and so on and so forth. Several blogs and a couple of screen name changes later, and here I am. (Hi!)

Blog! Do it! Blog!

So the posts on Time Delay have been embarrassingly few and far between here of late. It’s like I’m not doing a damn thing. Oh, sure, a rare post here and there, but nothing worth bragging about. Hell, nothing even worth admitting to.

I like to place the blame squarely on the massive pulmonary embolism back in October that filled both my lungs with blood clots. Nearly killed me. Landed my ass in a hospital bed for a week. Put me out of commission for a long while. (Made me miss Darklady’s Halloween party – now THAT’S how you know it was serious!)

But in all honestly, I’d been in a posting slump even before that, and that whole thing was long enough ago that I should be firmly back in the blogging saddle again.

The last week in July, my obsessive compulsive brain realized that the 2nd anniversary was approaching AND that I was just a post away from the 100th. And it started screaming inside my skull. “Two posts by August 12th!” It was insistent.

So now I had this goal of getting posts #99 before and #100 by the 12th of August. Plus I had the accompanying fear that I’d fail at even that simple but seemingly vital goal.

And then . . . one day last week I logged into Twitter and found a DM (direct message) from an old friend of mine with whom I’ve all but lost touch. (Someone who I’d completely lost touch with before I found him on Twitter and we started following one another..)

The message was a mere four words long. (Four words, and three exclamation points.) I don’t know whether he was suddenly curious about what was going on in my life, or if he was struck by the urge to play Jiminy Cricket, chirping conscience-chatter in my ear. But whatever his reason, the writerly ‘call-to-arms’ from out of the blue added fuel to the fire of my ‘must blog OR ELSE’ mentality.

Sitting there at the library, reading that short little message, I had a flashback to 1993 when he (and practically everyone else I knew at the time) told me I needed to write something.

Oh, and the Twitter DM? “Blog! Do it! Blog!”

So here I am. Blogging.

Looking Back on a Disappointing Year Two

I wrote and posted 81 entries in the first year of the blog. Year two brought us a mere 18.

I suppose it’s lovely for symmetry, following 81 with 18, but it’s not all that great for volume.

Once again, the report on this year’s KinkFest proved problematic. (Part one is up on the blog, but doesn’t really cover the event all that much. Part two exists only as a placeholder. And as for the rest of it . . . well, we’ll get to that later on in this post.)

There’ve actually been a bunch of things I wanted to post about whose topical expiration date has come and gone. Other event reports. Not to mention an intended multipart post on my whole medical ordeal.

Looking Forward to a Magnificent Year Three

Year three on the other hand (he says confidently) is going to be nothing short of fantastic!

Changes

Obviously, the first change from it’s current condition is frequency of posting. I’ve decided I’d like to post a little more often than almost never. My thought here is an official policy of ‘at least once a week’, with an actual weekly goal of two posts. Maybe a third post when I’ve specifically got a third thing to say, but not as a regular thing. (I’ve noticed that posting three times a week for a month or two is the best way to drain me of all interest in posting more than ‘rarely’.)

I’d like to put some more effort into the ‘second draft’ stage of the blog. I still get complaints that my posts are too long, which is something I’m never quite sure how to fix. (And no, the advice “Make them shorter” is not at all helpful. Thanks, though.)

In addition to posting miscellaneous and scattered topics all willy-nilly, I’d also like to start posting some stuff within structured categories.

The next Time Delay post will be the first post in it’s own category, for reasons that should become obvious once you read it. And I’ve got other categories in mind, besides.

‘Fetish and Fantasy’ seems like a decent category for (and an excuse to finally write) some of the posts on various fetishes that I’ve been putting off, seemingly forever. (The foot fetish stuff, more info on clown fetishism, and so on.) Plus, some of the classic fantasy scenarios that especially turn me on (and some not-so-classic fantasies that turn me on even more).

I’m thinking about a category tentatively entitled ‘Blog Therapy’. I’d like to use my two or three human readers and seemingly infinite number of Japanese spambot readers as a therapist, and just talk stuff out.

[Oh, by the way – I’d like to apologize to Time Delay’s Japanese spambot audience for the fact that I keep disallowing your comments. But the sites you link to are all blocked by the library’s filters, and since the majority of your messages are ‘cleverly’ clickable links . . . I just feel uncomfortable allowing your posts, not knowing where you’re sending people. Sorry, Spambots.]

And then – (okay, deep breath Zeitgeist, you can do this) – I want a category called ‘Erotic Fiction’. I want to start writing short stories that are either erotic or pornographic in nature (that’s step one, and it’s a BIG step considering my writer’s block problems regarding fiction), and then post them here in the blog.

Other categories exist, but have yet to make themselves known to me. Isn’t that always the case?

The other change in mind is to some of the topics that have been sitting on the schedule for awhile. One day, while staring at the list of posts I needed to write, it occurred to me that both the KinkFest Report and the 10th Annual Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Report would have to include some hefty chunks of text on foot fetish. This made me start musing off on tangents, and the next thing I knew, I was preparing an alternate list of blog posts based on commonalities of content within some of the posts I was finding it difficult to write.

I’m still planning on (belatedly, at this point) covering this past KinkFest. It’s just that I’m no longer planning to do it in something called ‘The KinkFest Report’. Instead, I’ll be inserting little chunks and snippets of what went on at KinkFest into other posts, like “Sucking on Sexy Bare Toes” and “Why I Shouldn’t Be Allowed to Run Around Naked”. (Among others.)

Still No Cake, Ice Cream, Or Dancing Girls

When I wrote the self indulgent pieces for both post #50 and the 1st anniversary, I made noises about wanting the blog to be so popular and successful that when I hit the next big anniversary (which would have been either of the two that combined to form this thing), I wanted cake, ice cream, and dancing girls. Or strippers. Or prostitutes. (Not real picky, me.)

Maybe next time. Post #150? Or #200, maybe? Or the 3rd anniversary?

Hey, the traditional 3rd anniversary gift (yeah, wedding, but still) is leather – and if August 12th falls in the middle of Oregon Leather Pride Week again next year . . . hmm . . .

Cake, ice cream, dancing girls, and leather bdsm gear (to maybe use ON the dancing girls).

Escape From My House

Lately (the past month or so) I’ve been starting to meet new people. Meeting people means introducing myself. [Hi! I’m so-and-so.] The traditional introduction usually either includes or leads to a description of oneself. [I do this for a living, I do that for recreation, I listen to this type of music, watch this type of television, and man-oh-man, do I ever hate dogs!] Which in my case (thanks to how my obsessive-compulsive brain works) oftentimes means having to justify myself. [This now, is the long and involved story behind why I’m in the current shape that I’m in – physically, socially, occupationally, financially, etc.]

Anyway . . . one of the self-referential snippets I keep dropping into these description/justifications is: “I’ve been practically a shut-in for the past 22 years”.

Chronic illness, and a lack of things like a vehicle and/or driver’s license have kept me house-bound much of the time.

In the beginning, I had friends that made sure I got to where I really needed to go. They’d take me to the odd social function. I’d go to the occasional movie. A concert, now and then. The yearly science-fiction convention. And so on.

But these people have all long since moved on. They’ve either developed their own lives and moved away. Or things like weird tumors or self-inflicted gunshot wounds had them move on in a completely different way.

Suffice to say, the more time passed, the more isolated I became. And the more isolated I became, the more excited I got by the occasional opportunity to flee my house.

The Bus

My crappy little home town is one of the stops on the route for something called the CARTS bus. (Chemeketa Area Regional Transportation System). An arm of Cherriots (the transit system serving Salem), the stated purpose of the CARTS bus is getting students from outside its city to and from Chemeketa Community College. But it’s available to anyone with bus fare, so it’s become much more than just a glorified school bus.

Sadly, my crappy little home town doesn’t offer enough traffic to justify anything more than the bare basics – a start-of-day pick up at 6:30 am, and end-of-day drop off at 6:45 pm.

Several years ago, it had been a different story. I can remember looking at the schedule for the bus and seeing stops several times throughout the day. Way back when, I even rode the bus, once. Went to Salem. Almost had a seizure on the bus during the ride to Salem. Then nearly panicked when the bus was five minutes late that evening, thinking I’d missed my ride home.

I pretty much decided that a trip to Salem wasn’t worth that much hassle.

Yeah, I’ve got reasons to be in Salem, but for most of them, the bus isn’t of any use to me anyway. The Salem Munch, for example. This is something I really need to start attending, but it runs from 6:00 pm to 9:00 pm. And the last bus home leaves town at 5:55 pm. Helpful? No.

And, of course, it only runs Monday through Friday. So anything going on over the weekend is out. Very limited usefulness.

Multiple Transit Systems

Several months ago, I started looking into bus travel again. Not so much to get to Salem, but using the CARTS bus as a springboard to elsewhere. Once the CARTS bus gets you to Salem, you can use the Cherriots system to get you all over Salem and Kaiser. As well as two other places.

Cherriots does a run to Spirit Mountain Casino at Grande Round. Which would be great if I had a stake – either a renewable stake, or luck with things like cards and dice. But I don’t so I chose to focus on the other non-Salem/Kaiser destination. Cherriots collaborates on a Salem-to-Wilsonville (and vice/verse) run with SMART (South Metro Area Regional Transport).

SMART – in addition to servicing the mass transit needs of Wilsonville – also does a run to the Barbur Blvd Transit Center in Portland. A once you’re in Portland, the legendary Tri-Met system can take you all over the place.

A trip to Salem might not be worth the hassle of a bus trip. But a trip to Portland? That’s a whole different story.

Parties at Darklady’s

So there I am, talking to Darklady during the 2010 Portland Masturbate-a-Thon, when she says to me, “I wish you lived in Portland. We’d hang out.”

Well, as soon as I got my brain started again, I told her that I’d recently discovered that by getting up at the crack of dawn, I could take a series of busses up to Portland. The only problem being that while I could also take a series of busses home from Portland, I couldn’t really do both in one day the way the schedules were set up.

This is when she tells me that I should take the bus up for some of her mid-week events, and just crash overnight on one of the beds or couches down in the Wonderground (there’s a forthcoming post about Darklady’s Wonderground in the works) for the night.

So since mid-July, that’s what I’ve been doing. About once a week, heading up for whatever the event-of-the-week is. I’ve been to a couple of ‘Potluck and Porn’ events, a Game Night/Social, the beta-test for Naughty Karaoke (which I wasn’t supposed to be at, but – well, long story), and most recently, Darklady’s birthday party.

I’m taking this week off (the actual premiere of Naughty Karaoke, which I hate to miss, but it’s taking place on a Friday, and the lack of weekend busses would strand me in the Wonderground until Monday.)

Killing Time in Shopping Malls

Last year, I did nearly all of my Christmas shopping online from the internet terminal up at the library. This year, I suspect that the bulk of my Christmas shopping will be done at Lloyd Center. (And Clackamas Town Center. And possibly Washington Square, home of Oregon’s LEGO store.)

Yes, I’ve been hanging out in Portland area shopping malls.

In theory, I’m looking for other things to do in Portland between my pre-noon arrival at the Barbur Transit Center and 6:30 ‘doors open’ time at Darklady’s Wonderground. But it’s summertime, and I don’t take well to things like heat or light, so I tend more toward indoor stuff. Shopping malls are simple. I can window shop. I can refuel at the food court. I can sit and read a book. I can sit and watch women going by in flip-flops, with various shades of toenail polish and toe rings, and other forms of social contract that say, “Hey, I WANT you to look at my feet!”

Untapped Potential

So, I’ve been riding on CARTS, SMART, and Tri-Met.

But there are other transit systems that connect up with this network at points along the line. I know that both CAT (Canby Area Transit) and SCTD (South Clackamas Transportation District) share some bus stops or transit centers with some of the rides I’ve been on. Meaning that I could expand my travels to Canby and Molalla.

CAT covers Canby, but also does a run from Woodburn through Canby to Oregon City and back again. Woodburn has it’s own transit system. I haven’t checked on Oregon City, but I’d be surprised if it didn’t. (The Oregon City Transit Center is also a Tri-Met stop.)

One of the things that’s kept me from making another attempt at using the Craigslist personals has been my basic housebound-ness. That, and having to limit myself to a small regional area.

But Silverton, Salem/Kaiser, Wilsonville, Portland, Oregon City, Molalla, Canby, Woodburn, etc.? And me now theoretically able to hit any bus stop in that range? Hmm. The prospects are far more encouraging.

Sitting at home masturbating, hoping an appropriate woman falls from the sky vs. taking some action and traveling beyond my four walls to search for appropriate women? Even if it’s just a one-afternoon-stand with a woman from the casual encounters section of the Ctaigslist personals, it’s infinitely better than I’ve been doing.

Bad (Bus) Trips

Of course, there’s a slight problem with the bus schedules. They never seem to take into account my tendency to get on the wrong bus. (Usually the same number/destination as the bus I’m supposed to get on, but the one on the other half of its run, heading in the direction opposite the one I need to be going in.)

Because of this, I’ve started asking a question when I get on board. “Will this bus take me to such-and-such?”

So, my last trip up to Portland, I get onto a Tri-Met bus, and ask the driver, “Does this bus go to the Lake Oswego Transit Center?” He tells me it does. And while he’s not exactly lying, he doesn’t volunteer the info that it won’t get there for hours and hours, and that the bus I want is the one going the other way, that’ll only be something like 40 minutes away from the LOTC.

To make matters more annoying, before I can figure out that I’m going the wrong way, he gets off the bus, switching out for a new driver.

So when we hit the last stop and it’s Portland College, I’m justifiably confused. I have to wait through the (new) bus driver’s 20 minute break before we get back on the bus headed to where I’m going. I update my internet-supplied travel itinerary in my head, and realize that I’m now three hours behind schedule. By time I arrive at Washington Square (to finish shopping for Darklady’s birthday present) it will be about the time I planned to leave the mall, heading for her place.

YIKES!

And then, as if to properly cap off the trip where the busses all hated me . . .

Going back home the next day, there’s heavy traffic from Portland to Wilsonville. The bus driver warns that we might not make the bus from Wilsonville to Salem. Which has me rightfully nervous. But we do indeed make it in time, and all looks well. Then the bus from Wilsonville pulls into Salem five minutes AFTER the bus heading for my crappy little home town has left. Aaaaarrrggghh!

Stranded in Salem. Without a celphone. In a world where the fact that everyone has a celphone means that payphones no longer exist. And I apparently don’t look like the kind of guy you want to lend your celphone to.

So I started walking. After about fifteen blocks in what turned out to be the wrong direction I heard rumors that there was still a bank of payphones at the Salem Center mall. Another twenty-plus blocks and I still hadn’t found/reached the mall . . . but I had located the Salem Grand Hotel and Convention Center.

I figured if there were pay phones anywhere in the city, a convention center was a good bet to locate them.

It was a bet I would have lost. No pay phones. They did, however, have something even better over in the hotel. Right next to a big soft cushy leather chair. The legendary white courtesy phone. Dial 9 for an outside line.

I knew that my sister was working until 10:00 pm. I knew that Dad (and his girlfriend) were at the coast, having been given a pair of tickets to an Oak Ridge Boys concert. That left the rest of my social circle unaccounted for.

My brother-in-law, apparently, doesn’t answer his phone if he doesn’t recognize the number. Nor does he place any importance on listening to any voicemail anyone calling from an unfamiliar number may have left. (Sigh.)

My brother was unable to answer his phone when I called. And Zorch (not his real name) also opts not to answer his phone if he doesn’t recognize the number. But unlike my brother-in-law, he does listen to the resulting voicemail right away. So when I called back five minutes later, he answered (huzzah!) and informed me that he was actually in Salem at the moment, and about twenty minutes from getting ready to head back to our crappy little home town. Forty minutes later (and the realization that Zorch either can’t count or can’t tell time), and we were heading home in his Dad’s convertible. Which was a much more stylish ride than the bus, anyway.

Warning

So, anyway . . . I’m on the loose. LOOK OUT! Hee hee hee!