Tuesday, July 29, 2008

"Once there was a boy and he was beautiful... "

My grandmother died two weeks ago. Or was it three?

I didn't know her very well, you see. She had a horrible deaf husband and feet crippled by arthritis and only one grandchild: me. Every time I came to her house I would feel crushed and smothered by all that outlet-less love. So, being young and not terribly receptive to her misery (past cure) I quit seeing her.

I learned of her death when my stepsister sent me an email: "I'm sorry about Grandma. I know you two were way closer than I ever was with her..."

Oh, the irony.

I called my father and after a while he finally said that she had in fact been buried the week before, he hadn't been able to tell me. I relayed this information to Max and he said, "Well, it's not so bad: my father waited a month before he told me my dog had died."

Quin told me another story, about his angry old grandfather who had called his son for the first time in twenty years. The grandfather had to because he was getting his legs amputated and needed someone to care for him afterwards. When he saw Quin and his brother for the first time he said to Quin's brother, "You're fat." Quin he seemed to like. Quin never made any attempt to contact him after that hospital visit because he didn't think much of his grandfather cutting out the rest of his family for 20 years. Now it was his own fault that he was a bitter man with no legs.

Even Q. said I would have to bear up--not because I would miss my grandmother, but because my father would call me for support.

So I felt better about my inability to call up tears in honor of the dead. But you see, mine is a strange family: we do believe in ghosts. And though I have never come near sensing one myself, Q. has seen several. At night she sleeps with all the lights off and doesn't think of it, but on me the effect is just the opposite. My grandmother was newly buried: what was keeping her, in her loneliness beyond the grave, from angrily visiting her only grandchild and demanding recompense for all my neglect?

I got sick (not from fear but not eating and late nights). Truly sick, with fever and chills and all after three days of yellow drainage. That night, shivering and looking for another blanket, I pulled one of my grandmother's creations off the shelf. It doesn't go with anything else I have, a quilt made of fabric emblazoned with the solar system and the stars, a quilt for a five year old.

I tried to think of the things my grandmother had done with her life, but all I could remember was this blanket and the chest of mementos from me and my father she had in her house, her most precious things. Not much, to leave after you. Still, the blanket reminded me of the love she must have felt for me, and I felt I could sleep under it unmolested.

I went to bed and coaxed myself to a glorious orgasm. Jaime, to cheer me up and to celebrate his discovery of The Tudors on BitTorrent, had sent me link after link of Jonathan Rhys Meyers pictures. Later I found still better ones. I was humping a pillow between my legs, massaging my belly--dreaming, as I am wont to do, that I am not female but male (Rufus Hex, a fiction I created, black haired and soft bodied and beautiful), that I am not empty but stuffed full (my belly growls).

"He was known...in his early career, for his androgynous appearance..."

Reading this sentence over and over in my head, my passion builds. Somewhere in the dull words there is a secret key fits into my libido perfectly. Androgyny, white skin, wasp-waisted, sharp faced--like the Colt--I am screwing the Colt, finally feeling his body, I am Rufus, I am fucking Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

And then I come. Simultaneously I am aware of two things: I am smothering beneath the blankets (all the excess heat) and I am positive when I look outside my nest of blankets I will see a spector.

Pile the blankets on and the fever will break.

Perhaps the stairs creaked. At any rate I lay feverishly trying to convince myself that there was no one standing by my bed. I don't hear anything, sense anything. But a part of me is scared nonetheless.

Eventually my heart slows, sanity returns, I throw off the smothering covers (my hair is wet, sweat-streaked) and turn on every light in my room and the closet too, just in case.

When I went to bed I was sick, chilled. Now I am wide awake and have nothing else to turn to but the trusty old computer. Only I've read all the new stuff in my RSS feed--what else is there to look at?

Then I suddenly remembered a blog that had been recommended to me, an archive list I had yet to plunder. So I began reading...

"Tonight a correspondence with a mutual friend of a ghost who's haunted me beautifully, proved my suspicions correct, she had "disappeared into her nuptials", he put."

...and as I read I became aware of a strange sense of familiarity, a cresting of remembrance, and whether it was the Robitussin to help me sleep or the crying over the Colt* or the orgasm or the blanket I'd pulled from my closet to help fight the night chills, it had all built up into something i almost remembered and then... crashing down.

Constantine.

Memory. I went and sat on the bed, holding my hands in my lap and thinking, I don't want to be here. It was the same position I had been in every night for months, thinking the same things over and over again.

But after a while I realized the sharpness wasn't going to come: it no longer cut my body, but had become part of me. My flesh.

The blog I was reading is not his blog. Not even close, from the things described therein: he is still a student, not a writer with a career. But Constantine also spoke in a beautiful rambling patios culled from too much Ulysses and Marquis de Sade and the sweet flowering of drugs, beauty, tormented love and alcohol. His words, his face, his voice... a prefrence for them had imprinted themselves into my everlasting longing so that even when I thought I had forgotten him I was unerringly drawn to whatever resembled him in words and pictures.

I cannot offer you his real face. I cannot offer you his real voice. I can only offer you images, sounds, and hope the puzzle they make fits together somehow into what he was and what he became to me. Because I know if I had not met him things would be different now--I would be a different person than I am.

_______________________________________

* I did that too, before the orgasms. I hadn't heard from him for about three weeks.

Monday, July 28, 2008

Pretty BBWs: Big Beauty Blog



My one year of French is of no avail while reading Le Blog de BigBeauty, but it seems to be a fashion blog written by Stephanie, a BBW with impeccable taste. With her Arwen face, her "superior stomach" and her tiny feet, Stephanie doesn't have to take her clothes off to get my attention.

Stuffer Boys: It's Sunday Somewhere



A girl never forgets her first.

Around six months ago I was poking about on Myspace, having finally stumbled upon a few pictures and keywords that vaguely corresponded to the things I thought about every night when I was trying to get off. As yet, none of them were quite the right word or photo...

Then my eye fell on Fatten Me Up's profile (he had a different handle then, I forget what it was). Until then, I had no idea that boys did "it"--and with my first look at a stuffed boy, something clicked in my head. This was what I had been wanting.

Soon I was looking at his photos every night before I went to bed. I learned how different a boy's belly looked when compared to that of a soft plump girl's. Harder, heavier, masculine and impressive. He was the first stuffer boy I e-mailed, and though we haven't talked much, he seems to be quite a nice chap.

He's in Italy now and, being a gainer first and a stuffer second, trying to gain weight. But it's "still not goin great though :( what would u recommend a lost stuffer boy in distress??"

Any recommendations, girls? If you have an idea, send the boy a message!

Friday, July 25, 2008

First Spanking

The Colt and I send each other so many text messages every day I had to switch to a different plan. I always smile when I hear my phone buzz on the table. Sometimes I hold it in my lap as I wait for his next message.

THE COLT: Bored Colt is bored!

ME: R u still in class?

(The Colt has begun college in The State On the Other Side of the Country. He says he has classes from 7:30 am to 11 at night, which sounds insane to me. Recently he told me that no cell phones were allowed in class.)

THE COLT: I'm in class being bad!

ME: *lifts up your little tail* I'm going to spank you, you bad colt!

THE COLT: Eek! *bends over* Be gentle!

ME: *smack!*

THE COLT: *yip!*

ME: *smacks harder!*

THE COLT: *yips and whines back at you* Careful with my tail!

ME: It's such a little tail it won't get in the way. *smacksmacksmacksmack!*

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Molly Loves... "It better be over easy"



I had to take John Campbell's Pictures for Sad Children out of my RSS reader because, no matter how bad my day was, Mr. Campbell's was worse. (I do, you'll notice, have it in my link list over there in case you can stand heartbreaking satire more than one or twice a month.) As the author himself describes it, "It's like Dilbert, only there is more crying."

Only now, since he has started writing about porn his comics will be posted left and right on the sex blogs and his livejournal will be flooded with comments left by spanky-happy BDSM enthusiasts and vore loving porn addicts driven mad by pleasure. What are you waiting for? Get to it, minions!

A New Hobby



Why, whatever are these Chinese girls doing? Here's a quote in case you think you know everything:

“Most of the people in the audience had no idea what this was,” said Hu Jing, 24, an instructor at the Lolan School. “They just thought it was fun and clapped afterward.”

Pretty Girl, Under Screen

I like BBWs. But pretty girls do sometimes come without rolls.

Meet Pricila. She's the latest Urban Pinup on LastNight'sParty. This man named Bronques goes to parties all around the world with a camera and pretty girls just take off their clothes. Sometimes they even do it in midair.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Under Construction

Today I took down three of my previous posts: "Stuffer Boy Sunday: Alex" and "Baking Pies" and "'You Can Do Better'". ("Cyberfun" also disappeared briefly but then I remembered I had left a comment about it on Violet Blue's blog and she wouldn't be able to read it.)

I did this to avoid drama.

If you have been following this blog you will know that I have many different kinds of relationships with several different boys, both in RL and online. Recent events have forced me to think about changing my relationship to some of them, and putting my feelings out on such a public forum might create problems in the future. For instance, the Colt reads my blog, and I would rather he hear of the people I saw in his absence directly from me than read it in some impersonal blog post. (EDIT: he now knows about Alex and the BHM.)

Also, I try to make it my policy to ask the permission of almost everyone I write about before I put anything up about them on the internet (emphasis on the "try"). Cee, the Colt, Jaime, BBB and the "guest" stuffer boys whose photos I post every Sunday all know I write about them and have given their blessing. The exception to this is my housemates (who I've decided don't need to know I am a hardcore fetishist yet do things too amusing to avoid writing about), people I make out with in the murky darkness of parties, old flames who I will mention but haven't spoken to for years, and Alex, who I haven't heard from since he missed his date with me on July 4th. I told the BHM I wrote a blog last night and he said he wanted to see anything before I put it up, and thus some of the posts may reappear after I've talked with him. "'You Can Do Better'" will also probably re-appear in a newly edited state because I seem unable to write about anything in less than 1,794 words.)

So this is a needlessly long post explaining why you may have tried to find one of these articles and can't now. Unfortunately, Blogger does not have a password protect feature, which would allow people limited access to these posts while still letting you know they're there. This is the next best thing. The posts aren't gone, I just re-saved them in my draft folder. Hopefully after I've figured things out a little more they can re-appear.

(Here's a hint if you really miss them and use my RSS feed: even when it's been deleted on my blog, it's stuck in the RSS feed forever. Which is why you should really, really think before you put something on the internet, and why I always try to make sure it's OK with people first.)

Monday, July 21, 2008

Sugasm #141

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #142? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

Comedy vs. Tragedy

“Are you on your period? What? Did he just say…”


Ian, or, Sometimes Sex is Hilarious

“In short, it isn’t sex blogger sex.”


A Wish

“I wish that you could know the indescribable pleasure of being enfolded in your warm, gentle wetness.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank


Editor’s Choice

Road Rage


More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

BBW Monday: Breaking News


All photos: creaturetheatre's Superhero Set on Flikr


Max and I went to go see The Dark Knight yesterday; everyone and their cat has blogged about it already, but as I settled back and watched the Watchmen trailer unfold I found myself grinning.

"Yes, we were crazy, we were kinky...all those things that people say..."*

Yeah, he'd pegged us: but good. Everyone knows Catwoman is a dominatrix with ears; Mr. Wayne's very expensive garage isn't that much different from some descriptions I've read of the cybergeek who goes out at night dressed in black rubber. When I had shown the Colt my latest stuffer story, how Mr. Six was fabulosly wealthy, spent his time with fetishy beauties and tore up the night in a black car, he had exclaimed: He sounds like a superhero!



This is what we all want (minus the risk of sudden death): to make our own strange, creepy, sexy worlds with all the passion of a movie director. Only we live it, refusing to see the boundary of what most people think of as "fantasy"... we do it every day in our own bedrooms, with handcuffs and riding crops and Mentos and bottles of soda... we turn ourselves into creatures out of dream.



Thoughts of the Colt, his thigh-highs and fishnets hidden beneath his suit, of the bulging and stretching of the human body, Rorschach's mask shoved up over his lips and delicate garters all blended and buzzed in the back of my mind as the knife play and explosions danced across the screen; I subtly shifted my weight, pressing my freshly shaved pussy against the seams of my skirt, pressing it into the seat.

When the lights went up tho, I exclaimed to Max, "So Batman is Jesus now?!"

He laughed. We went out and while I waited for him to finish up in the bathroom I began idly texting, my fingers framing cheerful messages to boys I never expected an answer from: the Roman, the Colt. Two weeks and counting since his last text message...

We were waiting for the bus when my phone throbbed in my hand.

Omgoodness thank you for messaging me! I had my new car stolen up in [state halfway across the country] and lost a lot of my stuff :< I hate it here!

"Oh my god!" I yelled.

Max: "What is it?"

"It's this... boy... I know..." My stuffer boy, who I've yet to meet in the flesh. "I haven't heard from him in a while."

"The UK boy?"

"No, another one..."

Cyberslut.

The whole time my fingers were moving: Do you have any idea how worried I've been?!

I could guess :<

My wayward Colt had returned. Was I happy? I didn't know.

_________________
*A quote from Watchmen, of course.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

A Fence: What Happened to One Life, Take Two?

Yesterday* I was in the mood for good bukakke porn. And I don't mean the pictorial kind. I'm a lit major: the quickest way to turn me on is with a witty and well constructed phrase.

But when I went to my favorite site, I found this:



Now, I'm an idiot when it comes to many obvious things. Sometimes I leave the oven on. But even after fiddling with it I couldn't get the screen to say anything different. That's right, folks: Jefferson's blog, One Life Take Two, has been... well, fenced off.



It's not like he took it down, though. His three-year-old blog, chronicling single parenting, bisexual porn-star style sex, and the semi-long-distance polyamorous relationship he had with Madeline and Marcus, is now by invitation only. By the Blogger Terms of Service (which I can be very stupid about too, but here it seems clear) he will have to write a clearance for each of the hundreds of people that still want to read his blog... or perhaps not let anyone in at all.

I'm kinda hoping this is all temporary and you will see a blushing newbie blogger retraction in a day or two. But I have a sinking feeling that it isn't. I'll need to pull out my prettiest pen and paper to ask for an invitation.

I'm not so much unhappy as to have to write a note but worried for the reasons behind why Jefferson put the fence up--his blog has been a not-so-secret secret for quite some time--and feeling sad that me and hundreds of others will have a harder time reading his work. Jefferson's blog was the first one about sex I had ever read, and it opened a whole world to me that I want my (few) readers to be able to easily share and link to. Instead I feel as if all my Henry Miller, Anias Nin and fucking free bukakke porn have been put under lock and key with no explaination.










______________________
* Read, "About four hours ago."

Baking Pies

There's this scene in Charlie Wilson's War where he's lying exhausted in the bathtub and says he cannot fathom the energy women have after having sex. They're cleaning out closets, baking pies...

The posts you have been seeing for the past few days have been drafts. They were crafted months ago when I had more free time, spruced up with links and such to as appear new. In case you were wondering if I spent so much time blogging about it that I wasn't able to have sex.

Because I am, in fact. Having sex.

With the BHM.

Since July 4th.

Which means you are about to get quite a lot of posts in the coming days, fellow sexblog readers, despite my self-imposed silences elsewhere.

I suppose the real problem is my lack of decision. Should I start with my Very First Pussy Licking? Or the way he's able to hold both my wrists in one hand?

Some things never change?


Image via asianbbw.net.


"The trouble with this country is not smog or juvenile delinquency or even TV commercials. The trouble with this country is, that it’s getting so hard to find a fat girl.

"Oh, sure, they still exist, and a good thing too, because if they ever do disappear from view, we’re going to have to raise them in special herds like the vanishing buffalo...

"Unlike slim girls who are the darlings of modern fashion, fat girls get little attention. That means that when a man does bestow his favors upon them, they react like a St. Bernard in a sausage factory."


But wait there's more....

It's not so much that I have sometimes overheard these things. It is that I myself have sometimes thought these things.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Cyberfun

MOLLY REN: i wish you were in my country. it's a bit odd just knowing you on the internet

CEE: howcome?

MOLLY REN: you could be anybody, and yet I talk to you more than I talk to most people here

CEE: well, in all fairness, we're anonymous and similar in fetish, allowing for what may be considered my most open friendships, ever

MOLLY REN: that's exactly it. we are anonymous

CEE: yup

MOLLY REN: and yet we talk all the time

CEE: you dont even know my real name

MOLLY REN: yep. Mr. Lives or "Cee: a friend" on my blog

CEE: hehe. im not gonna tell you either of my names tho

MOLLY REN: i kind of don't want to know. a shred of romanticism, I suppose. if i knew your real name it would be harder to have fantasies about you

CEE: if you knew too much about my real life, i would probably feel worse about sharing fetishes with you

MOLLY REN: why worse?

CEE: the idea that exploring fetishes on webcam may be seen as cheating. yet, there's the realization that i love my gf and not you, which puts it back in perspective

MOLLY REN: i was reading an article about that today. people are still trying to figure it out, how seriously cyberfun can be taken

CEE: my real life is too good to take it seriously. even at the worst of times, its still eventful. and i dont come to the internet to escape reality, more to escape monotony.
CEE: i went to the shops, did paperwork, coursework, had a ride, did some gardening and housework today. i have mild insomnia by night
CEE: i donno
CEE: cyberfun is serious if you consider it the main part of your life, i suspect

MOLLY REN: mm-hmm

CEE: what do you think?

MOLLY REN: i think it's just fun for us

CEE: yeah, like exchanging pornography. but some people see porn as being unfaithful. i say fuck em

MOLLY REN: haha. even if YOU'RE the porn?

CEE: pornstars uphold serious relationships. its just a job for them

MOLLY REN:so you're an amateur porn star I am on friendly terms with
MOLLY REN:or
MOLLY REN: the most awesome interactive porn ever

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Men on Pointe


I was walking home from the bus stop when I had a vision.

There, on the sidewalk, surrounded by tourist trap shops, I conceived the ideal boy. He was wasp waisted, short haired, his limbs graceful, fluid movements, every line of his body vibrating with desire. He was clad in a black suit, and (most wonderful of all) on his feet, lengthening his swift and delicate streamlined body, was a pair of stark black ballet shoes.

Jesus, I thought, licking my lips as I walked down the street, Armani has nothing on this.

When I got home I wondered if, somewhere, somehow, someone had made men on pointe porn: guys in white button down shirts, tailcoats, sharp pressed trousers hugging a taut waist of victorian proportions...and on their feet, those magical shoes.

Sometimes the internet just give you what you want. Two Google searches later (first "men on pointe", then "men + ballet + suit") I discovered Amelia.



The men wear white ballet shoes instead of black, but I'm not about to complain of such a minor detail. Sometimes they are shod in shiny black dress shoes, which are just as much a turn on for me. I swear to god, dress suits and shiny shoes are men's lingerie.

Looking at these clips has also made me revisit ballet--something I haven't done since the classes in grade school. I'm surprised by how strangely unsexy it can sometimes be. Other times, it smolders with the power of the supernatural: these women and men cannot be real. Their grace makes them "others", just as Alexander's icy white skin and the Colt's crossdressing made them rare, strange, desirable.

It's strange too that the clips I've enjoyed the most have limited roles for the men. They're mainly props to hold up the girl. Not that I wouldn't like the boys alone, but the moves they're forced to carry out look silly and stilted. The second clip I have up, however, promises that the androgynous theme isn't simply something I'm projecting: it features a wasp-waisted girl in men's clothing.



I hope I can find a copy so I can watch this entire film, made up of "memories of a transvestite he once knew".

Image via LAist.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

"Hmmm," the doctor said.

He told me I either had strep throat or mono. He had swabbed out the back of my throat--so sore that it was too painful to for me to sneeze, much less swallow--and put it in the test solution. But the test was refusing to change colors. He told me to go home, get lots of rest, drink fluids, and not partake of any sports because if it really was mono, my spleen might be swollen and any kind of jarring might cause it to burst.

"Oh," I said.

When I told Cee about it later that night, he had a different diagnosis:

CEE: $5 dollars says its not an infection, you just have a kebab skewer stuck in your throat

ME: hmm. he shone a light down there. think he would have noticed

CEE: hmm, maybe looking into your mouth was like looking into the abyss... he got scared and made up a diagnosis

ME: the throat of cuthulhu

CEE: just a little tiny portal to hell
CEE: just enough to stick your finger in
CEE: so never be bulimic
CEE: you'd release the apocalypse

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

It's A Small World After All

When you have a rare fetish, you often wonder how many other people share your interests. Are there only a few dozen, or maybe uncounted millions, just waiting for you to stumble upon the right keyword or underground club?

MOLLY REN: bet you'll make the elastic snap soon with an appetite like yours

Bloated Belly Boy: Well, it's not just my belly stretching it

MOLLY REN: yes I bet you can hardly keep it in. maybe you could slip them off, reach around that swollen gut of yours and give it a pull or two

Bloated Belly Boy: mmm, sounds good to me

MOLLY REN: just shut your eyes and imagine a plump girl like me reaching around to massage that big hog's belly

Bloated Belly Boy: Oh god, that would be heaven

MOLLY REN: have to use both hand
s

When Bloated Belly Boy (or BBB for short) messaged me on Myspace, we wasted no time getting hot and heavy. Of course, since BBB is from the UK, it was only cybersex.

Bloated Belly Boy: Mmm, I'd reach back and rub you too

MOLLY REN: you'll be too busy playing with that stiffy in your pants, because that's what I want

Bloated Belly Boy: Mmm, yes ma'am

MOLLY REN: I don't want you to stop until you come all over your huge stuffed belly

Bloated Belly Boy: How can I say no to that?


This is strange, I thought. I suppose in RL terms it would be the equivalent of picking up a stranger in a dark bar and finding out in the make out room that you both had the same rhythm. He demanded to be punished, I called him names; he told me he was "so close" and I sent him a string of saucy words designed to push him over the edge. Then suddenly he wanted to see my face.

MOLLY REN: what do you look like?

BBB: That:

The collarbones-to-navel shot that was his profile pic was replaced by a face shot. It was like pulling someone out of the bar into the light of the street lamps and realizing they were the same person you'd dated in the same bar months before.

MOLLY REN: hmmm. you know, you were on {pervy website XXX}, weren't you?

BBB: I was, crap I didn't realize it was you


Even before I showed him a face pic, he knew at once who I was.

MOLLY REN: hahahaha, of all the boys in the UK how did I not recognize you?

Bloated Belly Boy: God, who'd have thought, I can't believe I never realized it was you

MOLLY REN: i can't either. so, dear, long time no see :)

BBB, using different pics and a different handle, had IM'd me almost nightly in the "early days"--i.e. around 5 months ago--when I first began a serious search for a boy that shared my fetish. Like Alex and the Colt, he'd disappeared from the internets without a trace. But apparently it didn't mean he'd lost interest.

Bloated Belly Boy: Indeed, I had to take a hiatus, real life got in the way. But I'm back now

MOLLY REN: amazing. i was going to like send you an e-mail or something, but I thought you'd lost interest, so I didn't.

MOLLY REN: geeze, I guess this fetish really is rare, eh?


I suppose, in some way possible only on the internet, it makes sense that we would all know each other eventually. The main hangouts on the internet for (straight) stuffers and feeders are Myspace, YouTube, and the occasional fetish website. The Colt says he's talked to Bellydude500, who I also occasionally chat with. In cyberspace, the fact that the Colt lives on the western side of the US and Bellydude500 the east are immaterial. Seen like that, perhaps it's not so crazy me and BBB would run into each other's profiles again, even though we live on separate continents.

I Took Coilhouse's Clothes Off

It all started with an invitation I couldn't resist. But, like the best things, it came with a stipulation: no nudity!

Still, Coilhouse is a lovely Victorian lady, not some tramp--I felt reverence rather than annoyance in complying with her wishes, though I couldn't help voicing a small protest:

"No nudes? But I’m a sex blogger… oh, well, here’s me with all my clothes on, at least..."

I left my mark (you can see it if you scroll down, and I mean waaaayyyy down because they've had 143 comments and counting so far). The next day I returned, and found I had indeed made Coilhouse very happy. And, lo and behold, she had lifted the ban on nudes!

Quickly, I flipped back to my original comment and saw this answer beneath it:

"You know, I’m actually not sure why I wrote “no nudes.” It was maybe 5:30 AM when I finished that post. Maybe I was trying to be funny? That part of the post will always remain a mystery. Nudes OK, though! NWS FTW! Beautiful image."

So that was how I took Coilhouse's clothes off. If you, like me, are a Coilhouse reader who has yet to de-lurk, go pay your respects. And if you have never heard of Coilhouse before, then for heaven's sake doff your hat and give a courtly bow: it was time you were introduced.

Bougieman: the Man Who Had Never Heard of Sex Blogs?

I never thought Livejournal was particularly sexy. I got one in college because my friends had one, and I thought the overall design was ugly, lacking many of the user-friendly features I'd come to expect from Wordpress and Blogger. Discovering a slew of awesome geeky webcomic artists redeemed it somewhat, but I was still unable to take Livejournal seriously as a place for the 18 and over crowd.

Then there was bougieman. He edits a series of magazines called Cinema Sewer, complete with his own sick drawings. Suddenly deformed pussy-gushing chicks were sharing space with the History Comics of Kate Beaton on my friends' page*. (Much better, I thought.) He also posts nifty videos of flying men in cowboy hats. And then, today, he wrote about Amandria

"Y'all know how it is with LJ and blogs and shit. You follow some total strangers life, and you kinda feel after a while like you know them. Maybe just a little. Maybe you never even comment, and yet since you follow their day-to-day shit, you have an odd connection to them. Or maybe you don't and it's all in your mind. I don't know....
Regardless, I've been following this girls blog that she set up to talk about her sex life and fantasies and stuff like that. She's in her early 20s and she lives in Canada somewheres....

She's been talking about how her fantasy is to get tied up -- blindfolded with her ass propped up in the air -- and then to be gangbanged by a bunch of virile young bucks. Like most people's fantasies, I figured it would stay just that, a fantasy. People talk a lot in the online journals. Lots of fantasy talk. Blah blah blah. Yappity yap.

But she shocked me, I'll give her that. Saturday night she damn well did it! FOR REALS!"



What follows is links to a very decent series of posts about Amandria's experiences. Still, for someone whose RSS spills over with more smut than the corner porn shop, it's old hat. Then bougieman sums it up:


"I really liked that: "I don't fuck for respect. I fuck for fun." I'd never heard that before."

It was the sentence that got me. "Never heard that before"? Is it possible that the editor of "the adult's only guide to history's sickest and sexiest movies!" has never been on a sexblog? Have the wonders of Jefferson, Always Aroused Girl, Violet Blue, Jaine Blooms and Shared Cindy passed him by? 

Fellow sexblog readers, I smell a possible convert to our wicked ways. I'm leaving a comment on his entry showing him the way to some of my favourite sex blogs, and we'll see if his cherry is indeed as intact as his post seems to imply. If you have some blogs that I've never heard of, feel free to chip in as well (you can comment on his blog even if you don't have a Livejournal. You can also add him to your RSS feed--he's well worth the read.)


______________________
* Yes, I do indeed have a pervy Livejournal. I experimented with posting on it when I was looking for a new host for my blog after Baywords failed, but I never update it since I got on Blogger. Eventually I might set up an LJ feed for it, but that is in the future.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Sugasm #139

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #140? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

Flunking A Call

“I fell silent again and tried to think. What did he want?”


Revision

“He seemed… perfect. ”


Shaving, revisted.

“I don’t do it for society, for anyone who will or will not be seeing it. I do it for me.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank


Editor’s Choice

Exploitation, objectification and breaking the law…



More Sugasm


Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, July 7, 2008

BBW Monday: Lotion and Cigarettes



This is what I need: a nice slaveboy to rub lotion all over me.

Though if you follow the link to the gallery you won't see so much lusty buttfucking as tender foreplay involving more foot massages and shared cigarettes, ending with the boy blissfully pillowing his head on her bosom as she merrily fucks herself with a pink dildo. I guess it's just the romantic in me.

I would also like to add that finding pretty BBWs is hard--I have a whole new respect for the guys at Fleshbot. When I started this weekly celebration of pretty fat girls I swore I'd only put up the best of the net... not realizing a the time that I had no idea what that was. I still don't, so I'm afraid that every week you'll just be seeing what I think is pretty or sexy... and Cee and me disagree pretty often on what makes someone hot.

What BBWs should I be watching, then, dear sexblog readers? Leave a comment with the link, and I'll check them out for future BBW Mondays!

Thursday, July 3, 2008

I am so stoked for tomorrow...

...and it ain't because of the fireworks.

I'm going to take a break from this blog. It's a long weekend: get out there, make some sun tea, and quit sitting inside wanking, fellow sexblog readers. :) I'm looking foreward to working on my tan.

I'm also looking forward to meeting a friend of mine--a stuffer boy named Alex. I've mentioned him previously on this blog: he's a long distance runner that's just discovering that he has a fetish. He's also leaving this month for Japan. So it's the first--and maybe the last--chance he'll have to talk to someone with the same strange interests as himself. He'll be the second stuffer boy I've met in person.

I also have some things to do, the usual post-graduation stuff. I need to get my shit together. When I come back, tho, there will be guys on pointe, men in corsets... and, if Eros smiles, news about the Colt. I still haven't heard from him, and it's been a while. I'm not worried yet... not quite... but until he finds a way to contact me, there's not much I can do.

So you'll be seeing a series of fun articles on different kinds of male beauty, some inspired by him, and hope that I'll soon hear from him again.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Max is Leaving

I haven't written much about Max on this blog. I hoped I'd have all summer to do it, but I don't--just until the end of this month. Then he's leaving for the West Coast.

I am really unhappy about this. He's leaving, pretty much, because he and Quin can't get along. I don't know what happened--something got started on the night of the drunk garden party, I think, and it just never got better. Now Quin is talking about how he's indifferent to Max and how Max is like an inscritable void to him, how he can't understand him at all... and that he wants to throw a pizza party when he leaves.

I don't get any of this, which is why I'm up in my room, writing. Which is why I didn't find out Max was leaving until tonight, from Quin: because for the past few weeks I've been up in my room, writing.

I really am going to miss Max. He freaked me out when I first met him, but then I liked him. He had the same kind of slightly sneering, prank-playing, whip-smart outlook as Jaime--only he did things that Jaime never did, like bring me slices of avocado when he learned that it was both our favourite thing. It was like having a slightly annoying older brother--someone you were frustrated by because he always got the last word in, but I always knew was nothing malicious in him underneath all the layers and layers of laughing ironical jokes where he would pretend to be a chavenist or raceist or a conservative Catholic when he was really none of these things. We had a pillow fight just last night, poking and teasing one another like two siblings.

Maybe Quin just didn't get the joke.

Maybe I didn't get it either--whenever I hear any kind of opposite opinion on someone I like, it makes me stop, re-evaluate them. Which is good. But I've made mistakes often enough that I always wonder if I was just fooled into not seeing who they really are, rather than giving them the benefit of the doubt...no matter what I've seen with my own eyes.

I haven't heard from the Colt in almost a week

Think he broke his phone again?

Last time we webcammed, he wrote: I have a neeeew necklace on today

ME: i noticed!

THE COLT: itz got a littel tag on it

ME: what does it say?

THE COLT: It sayz "Nacht fur You"
THE COLT: This is my "I'm taken" Tag

ME: my my
ME: who took you away?

THE COLT: You :V
THE COLT: "Nacht fur You" means "Not for You" if you could have possiblely guessed >>;

ME: it's true then
ME: u are my little beastie


I can't imagine him going to all that trouble unless he meant it.

But these long silences drive me crazy. Meeting anyone over the internet is so tenuous--I'm afraid he'll disappear for good before I can even see him for the first time in real life.

I sent him a txt message: Where are u? I miss you!

No answer yet.

Sugasm #138

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #139? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

You’re going to come for me.

“I imagined her, bound. Wrists behind her back, whimpering.”


Champagne Orgasms

“I cry out, begging for him to stop, begging him not to”


Tie one on

“He slipped his hands under my blouse and teased my nipples and breasts with his strong hands.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank


Editor’s Choice

The Look


More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.