Tuesday, March 31, 2009


I got lost on the way to the orgy.

Whoever wrote the directions was at fault. Or I had gotten off at the wrong stop. At any rate, I had circled around the same street twice now, and somehow always missed the turn that would allow me to arrive at the door to everything I wanted. Which is something I had been experiencing quite often of late, to speak metaphorically. I called them “oversights”, or “unseen circumstances”: some little detail that I had never thought to check, that somehow interfered with the whole operation.

Of course I didn't have a cell number. That would have meant giving up my own.

I had ridden the subway for god knows how long, my swollen pussy attentive to every bump and vibration, my overactive imagination looking at every halfway attractive rider, wondering if they were “going my way”. If the boy oblivious to my gaze would “just happen” to get off at the same stop as myself. After a block we'd realize we were both on the same secret errand, and when we reached the apt. I could have sex with him. All of my subway crush dreams would come true in an instant.

He got off at the stop before mine. Instead, I was in a part of New York City I'd never been in before, and I was freezing.

I don't do well with getting lost. At least in NYC, where you can get so far away from your starting point in so short a time. It plays on one of my irrational fears, this one being left alone, forever, in Greenland. As I traipsed about, trying not to trip over the broken sidewalks in the darkness, I reflected that by the time I got there everyone might have been fucked already. “You didn't leave anyone for me!” I'd weep as I burst in three hours late, having circled endlessly around the same city block when the secret meeting place had been under my nose all the time. I felt the urge to giggle.

The crotch of my pantyhose became soaked. For the past fifteen minutes my pussy had been tingling as the blood flowed into it, and now with the thought of all that naked flesh so maddeningly close it had burst its wetness all at once. If I didn't get help soon, I'd go insane with pent up lusts and the next morning they'd find me gibbering on the sidewalk.

An old woman (the most-non threatening individual I could find) suggested that I go to a nearby community center to ask for directions. The name of this fine establishment failed to make an impression on my memory, but the gentleman inside was very helpful, explaining that instead of a left, I should have taken a right. Within minutes, I was standing in front of a door that matched the description I had been given in all particulars. I pushed the button.


“It's Molly Ren,” I said, shaking. “Can you let me in?”

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Coming Soon

Stuffies will quit being an invite-only blog today. Like most of my decisions, it was made in a hasty effort to be responsible and almost immediately regretted. My apologies to those of you who downloaded Firefox in vain, I had no idea that making my blog invite-only would make it entirely inaccessible to Safari users.

I will also no longer be re-posting updates on my Livejournal or my Myspace. In the case of the former it has become too much trouble; in the latter, Myspace changes all my links to a warning that my page is spam. This would normally be enough to get me to leave Myspace altogether, except that is where the largest community of straight male feedees is to be found. Which should be a post someday, my musings on the Feederism community of Myspace. When the rest of you quit using it, only the fetishists will be left.

Speaking of future posts, I recently attended one of Jefferson's orgies. The feeders and feedees in the audience have most likely not have heard of him, his blog or the huge mess he got into not too long ago. Long story short, the sex blogosphere was divided over whether he is a manipulative bastard or just made bad decisions. I was about evenly split down the middle myself, though perhaps my next posts will clear things up a little. Or perhaps people are just sick of reading about him, who knows.

Actually, I debated writing about the orgy for another reason: it's not Feederism sex. There were various party foods served, but I didn't force anyone to drink an entire bottle of soda. In fact I have hardly ever written about a real, live, Feederism sex scene on this blog. This is because I have never yet had real, live, Feederism sex, though I would like to have it more than anything else in the world (including a night in bed with Starbuck, Jonathan Rhys Meyers and an end to the recession.)

The reasons for this lack of what this blog is supposed to be about are myriad. But it can most easily be summed up in a quote this from this excellent paper on the subject of Feederism:

Given that people interested in feederism do not hold annual conventions, subscribe to a certain type of magazine, nor are they formally members of any one particular organization, finding participants could have been extremely challenging. Not only are participants in this community not socially organized for real life meetings and conventions, they are also few and far between. They span the globe but are few in numbers.

Thus, I've been trying to spread out in my erotic interests--in other words, see if there might actually be another way for me to get off besides feeding boys gallons of ice cream. I'm not yet ready to say "everything is broken" like Bitchy Jones, but nor do I want to set myself up for a sexual life in which satisfaction is almost impossible to find. Which I think is the healthiest way to look at life when you have a very strong desire for something so rare, but leaves me the question of whether or not I should continue to blog.

And I think the answer is yes. Because, even though my circumstances do not currently allow me to make love in the highly strange fashion which is my ultimate desire, I still have "fat eyes". In other words, I tend to see the world through Feederism-colored glasses, no matter how much of a stretch it might be. In addition, the orgy was attended by a great number of curvy women and at least one FA, though I don't think he knows that's what they're called. For the first time I found myself complimented openly on my curves, and to my chagrin I found I hardly knew what to do with myself.

At any rate, writing up the orgy will take a considerable amount of time. It will lead to a week or two of almost continuous posts on this blog, and I hope you all will comment lavishly--I promise to give my leisure hours over to answering every one. Or, at least every one for which I can think up a witty rejoinder. I've had big plans for there to be more and better photos too, and maybe even some links to hot Feederism stories...but all of that is still in the vague planning stages. I may, as usual, have bit off more than I can chew.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Monday, March 16, 2009

Saturday, March 7, 2009

BHM Crushes: Dan Dreiberg

I'm sure after the movie's been out for a while I won't have so much of a time trying to find photos of Nite Owl naked, but until then enjoy this pic of him and Silk Spectre looking all lovey dovey, courtesy of Shipperwar.

They fucked up the sex scene.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to BHM Crushes. This is the part of Stuffies where I wax eloquent on one of the poles of my desire--for what I like, at least in terms of the male body, varies both toward the tiny etherial boys who aren't over 5 foot nine all the way over to what I call, for want of a better term, chubby linebackers.

Thus, I give you my very first BHM Crush: Dan Driberg.

Tho I don't think I'm supposed to like him "that way". Example:

I'm a huge fan of the comic, but if you can pull yourself away from the source material long enough to look at the flick from a purely cinematic point of view, you'll see that the movie serves as a pretty profoundly fucked-up meditation on not only superheroes, but also on the people who dig superheroes. This is all subtext in the 'Watchmen' comic, but it wasn't until I saw all of these characters on the big screen that I realized that each of the heroes is crippled by an archetypal personality flaw endemic to a lot of comic book fans: the well-meaning but outta-shape/impotent Nite Owl, the too-smart-for-his-own-good Ozymandias, the rage-filled Rorschach and the all-knowing-but-tragically-disconnected-from-humanity pile of protons that is Doc Manhattan. It wouldn't be too hard to see these same characters stuck together in high school, unable to get dates or get along with anyone else while the Silk Spectre II bumps uglies with the school's quarterback.

But really, even with all that, how can you not love a man who named his flying machine Archie? And he can make all his own toys!

This article also conveniently forgets that Miss Jupiter ends up bumping uglies with that same impotent man, and honestly seems to like it. Sometimes multiple blue dudes that taste like batteries just don't do it for you, and what you really need is a good old fashioned fuck delivered by a hot geek with arm muscles, holy god, I so need a still of that scene where he's on top of her on the sofa and he's not sure what he's doing but his arm muscles look so gloriously capable. And then there's a close up of her undoing the belt on his pants and you can see his soft tummy even and there's never ever been a sex scene like this in a movie that I've ever seen and then it was over. But it was ok, I knew he'd get a second chance. I'd read the book.

Speaking of which, isn't Nite Owl supposed to have a fetish too?

I'm pretty sure the creators of the original comic put the fetish sex connotations in to say something about how being a superhero was a unique kind of fucked up, but you know what, I don't care about that any more. So what if the man has a latex fetish? There are much worse fetishes to have, I assure you...

Costumes. Oddly, one of the things the book and the movie never explained how he was supposed to fit back into his costume. Wasn't he supposed to have gained weight? But you know I don't care about that either because she's taking his mask off and there's something so hot about a man with a naked head when the rest of him is covered. And then he picks her up and starts to pound her right there on the bulkhead and whoa, this looks like a real sex scene! He's thrusting and they both look kinda awkward but also hot and we have this nice close up of her boot pressed up against his side and then the music.

The horrific music.

Was the sex scene supposed to be stupid all along and I just missed it? Ok, the bit where the fire shoots out is kinda silly...but it's tipped over into agonizing absurdity with this song, which will simply not go away or be faded out so I have to hunker down in my seat and simply breathe, focus on Dan's arms, don't let it entirely ruin it for me. It's like my fetish in general, I thought, you just gotta block out the bad parts, focus on the good...

Anyway, when Watchmen comes out on DVD I can scroll to this scene and watch it with the sound off. Just like a real porno.

Monday, March 2, 2009

BBW Monday: Coy Pink

You can see the rest of this set here.

This week's BBW is the long-overdue Coy Pink. She and her gorgeous husband collaborate to bring their readers beautifully shot HNT's almost every week. It's always a treat to see what theme they'll pick, and how happy Coy always looks showing off her curves.