As far as I know, I'm the only sexblogger in my circle to start over with their blog completely on Tumblr, but if it works for Katie West I think I'll get by. I've hated Blogger's templates and interface for a long time now, and I think the change will help me write more and better. If you already have a Tumblr, go ahead and friend me--if you don't, you can add me to your RSS feed. I've set it up with the Disqus commenting system, so even people who don't have Tumblr accounts can comment!
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Update Your Bookmarks!
Stuffies has moved! From now on I'll be posting my thoughts on feederism and real-life sexcapades on Tumblr:
Monday, August 10, 2009
Placeholder
I'm not dead!
But my life it about to be turned upside down. My current temp. job is ending soon, and a lot is riding on when I can find another. I am still writing, but it's longer stuff, short story type things. I'm having a lot of fun doing them, but they're not ready to go out in public yet. ;)
So am I going to stop blogging? Nope. Will I be posting again soon? It'll be a while yet. In the meantime, you can always find me on Twitter, or email me at missmollyren (at) gmail (dot) com. If you're in dire need of some new sexy stuff to read, check out the links I have there on the sidebar. Those are the people that *I* like to read when I want to get off, so spread the love!
Kisses,
Molly
But my life it about to be turned upside down. My current temp. job is ending soon, and a lot is riding on when I can find another. I am still writing, but it's longer stuff, short story type things. I'm having a lot of fun doing them, but they're not ready to go out in public yet. ;)
So am I going to stop blogging? Nope. Will I be posting again soon? It'll be a while yet. In the meantime, you can always find me on Twitter, or email me at missmollyren (at) gmail (dot) com. If you're in dire need of some new sexy stuff to read, check out the links I have there on the sidebar. Those are the people that *I* like to read when I want to get off, so spread the love!
Kisses,
Molly
Saturday, May 2, 2009
The Internet Loves Me
Earlier this week, I was flattered to discover Ice Cream had been featured by the lovely Sexoteric, who specializes in collecting unique instances of pervery under their Experiences tag. This was the first time anyone had ever quoted me on their blog, let alone one I love to read!
But things got even better yesterday, when I idly signed into Statcounter (as I do every day). What is usually an exercise in pure narcissism, however, turned into bug-eyed gasps and squeals of glee when I realized I had been featured on Fleshbot! A million thanks to the lovely Madeline Glass for picking me (and making me first on the list, no less!) Being on Fleshbot has pretty much been a goal since I started blogging, so this really made my month!
I'm in good company, too. My internet buddies Byron and Lily were also featured. Go check 'em out!
But things got even better yesterday, when I idly signed into Statcounter (as I do every day). What is usually an exercise in pure narcissism, however, turned into bug-eyed gasps and squeals of glee when I realized I had been featured on Fleshbot! A million thanks to the lovely Madeline Glass for picking me (and making me first on the list, no less!) Being on Fleshbot has pretty much been a goal since I started blogging, so this really made my month!
I'm in good company, too. My internet buddies Byron and Lily were also featured. Go check 'em out!
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:
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.
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.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Sex Blogging and Getting Older
You ever hear that saying about how young people think they will live forever? That they are invincible?
It's bullshit.
It may just be because I have spent the last 3.5 years hanging out with scruffy philosophy majors for my late night-conversations, but I've never known anyone my age who didn't know that they were getting older and be scared shitless by it. Actually, we all think we'll die at 30.
It's true. For the longest time, I have had the vague, unformed idea in my mind that some form of annihilation would come over me before I reached my 30th year. Or maybe not anything that dramatic, maybe it was something else that felt like dying. It put an edge of desperation into everything I thought, if not everything I did--I wasn't sure what the hell to do half of the time. I never really talked to anyone about it, because a part of me felt it was stupid. Just my own private not-quite quarter-life crisis which could never be resolved.
I don't feel like this any more. But lately I've been talking to the Hipster Feedee (more about him later) and he talks about how he does all he can to "fake it" now. To make it seem like he's 29 or younger. About how he had a star-studded birthday so that if anyone looked him up on the internet they wouldn't see his true age right away. He tells me stories about people who write about music and art getting fired when they reach a certain age and then I get riled up and angry. No one knows why me and my peers have to think like this.
Well, Ok, I, personally, don't know. I just know that up until recently when I contemplated reaching that age my mind would reach such a wall of shining nothingness that I was sure it could only be The End of All Things. Maybe it's because I know deep down that Napoleon and Alexander the Great and Mozart all did their thing by 20 or so.
Really, I was a failure out of the womb.
When I make a little more effort to imagine it, I think we're all more afraid of our sprits dying than our bodies. At 30 we imagine we will all be old and fat* and boring. No more parties. No more drinking. No more late nights at Kino 41st street when some stranger would put their hand in my twat**. At 30 all would magically dissolve and I would be left entirely alone in a dead end job, maybe at Starbucks.
A young gay man I know is also depressed at getting older. According to him, a 30 year old gay man is practically at death's door. A minute after midnight on his last day at 29 he will wither, turn grey, and start looking at twinkies that are hardly in their teens with the sick smile of a pedophile. (Come to think of it, wasn't this whole concept a major plot point in Queer As Folk, how Brian Kinney was terrified of hitting 30?)
However, I now find myself almost unique among my generation in that I am not afraid of getting older. And I owe it all to reading sex blogs.
It's true. All the best sex blogs are written by old people***. According to my favorites--the ones I first found almost a year ago and kept reading up until this very day--us 20 year olds know absolutely nothing about sex. We are just mouthing our "date"'s twat and fumbling at our "boyfriend"'s ball sacks. At 20 and with a fair number of partners behind me, I can still yearn for a golden age of sex--which seems to come around 40 after a divorce****. While the thought might worry some of you, I adore you people. Your exploits put my adolescent groupings to shame and I want to be just like you when I grow up.
And as for the younger bloggers--i.e., those who have actually reached 30 without keeling over at midnight on their last day as 29ers--you're just like me, only cooler. You're still drinking and wenching pretty girls. You're still figuring out who you are and what you want. And you embrace the exploration boldly.
It would seem, then (at least out here on the fringes of sex and gender and tech and god knows what else) that age no longer matters when you fuck. With the knowledge that I will probably still be getting tail--and lots of it--when I reach the tender age of 40, all the other problems of aging seem more manageable.
Botox? AAG don't need no stinkin' Botox.
Really, it's wonderful. I feel like I can breathe. I feel like I can plan ahead, not just for the next ten or so years, but for the next thirty or forty. It's like being released from a beheading, only instead of running out and seeing everything with hyperkinetic joy and thankfulness I can actually slow down a little. Theoretically.
But maybe it's not just us on the insulated fringy-fringes. Maybe it's actually becoming more mainstream. Did you ever hear those stories about people getting it on in nursing homes? One of my fav stories I read in I think Reader's Digest, about two people who met in a nursing home that would stop the elevator between floors just so they could get some necking privacy. I say good for them.
But I still see it in every day conversations: "Old people having sex, ew." And I used to think that. And sometimes I look at old people and still think that. To my eyes, people who have gotten really up there have a strange topography to their bodies. Which, unless I improve my diet, make plans to undergo several cosmetic surgeries in the coming years, and lose all the fat that some of my fans find so attractive, will probably be just like how I look someday. Hell, someday my boobs might be down to my knees.
Thinking of it that way, you can't say "ew" anymore really. Every time you say "ew", you lose a little bit of your future leeway to fuck when you too are old people. When I'm 40 I expect to be at least 1,000 times more horny than I am now and the last thing I need while making out in the park with my silver-haired beau is a bunch of young twits going "Ew, old people making out! How disgusting!"
Cee says when I'm sixty I'm probably going to be an old pervy lady with a boy toy, but we'll ignore that part. Hell, maybe by that age I will have gotten brave enough to finally buy a vibrator.
____________________________________
*not even the sexy fat that happens in Feederism. In 30-year-old life projections that never happens.
**This really happened, folks. If enough people make inquiries I might even trot down memory lane to post about it.
***Dear everyone who finds this through their blog stats that is incensed at the use of the word "old people": By "old", I mean only "older than I am". Which really isn't very, because I am in my very early 20s. I just think it's fun to poke fun at you because I can. ;)
****It's a trend I see! You can't deny it!
It's bullshit.
It may just be because I have spent the last 3.5 years hanging out with scruffy philosophy majors for my late night-conversations, but I've never known anyone my age who didn't know that they were getting older and be scared shitless by it. Actually, we all think we'll die at 30.
It's true. For the longest time, I have had the vague, unformed idea in my mind that some form of annihilation would come over me before I reached my 30th year. Or maybe not anything that dramatic, maybe it was something else that felt like dying. It put an edge of desperation into everything I thought, if not everything I did--I wasn't sure what the hell to do half of the time. I never really talked to anyone about it, because a part of me felt it was stupid. Just my own private not-quite quarter-life crisis which could never be resolved.
I don't feel like this any more. But lately I've been talking to the Hipster Feedee (more about him later) and he talks about how he does all he can to "fake it" now. To make it seem like he's 29 or younger. About how he had a star-studded birthday so that if anyone looked him up on the internet they wouldn't see his true age right away. He tells me stories about people who write about music and art getting fired when they reach a certain age and then I get riled up and angry. No one knows why me and my peers have to think like this.
Well, Ok, I, personally, don't know. I just know that up until recently when I contemplated reaching that age my mind would reach such a wall of shining nothingness that I was sure it could only be The End of All Things. Maybe it's because I know deep down that Napoleon and Alexander the Great and Mozart all did their thing by 20 or so.
Really, I was a failure out of the womb.
When I make a little more effort to imagine it, I think we're all more afraid of our sprits dying than our bodies. At 30 we imagine we will all be old and fat* and boring. No more parties. No more drinking. No more late nights at Kino 41st street when some stranger would put their hand in my twat**. At 30 all would magically dissolve and I would be left entirely alone in a dead end job, maybe at Starbucks.
A young gay man I know is also depressed at getting older. According to him, a 30 year old gay man is practically at death's door. A minute after midnight on his last day at 29 he will wither, turn grey, and start looking at twinkies that are hardly in their teens with the sick smile of a pedophile. (Come to think of it, wasn't this whole concept a major plot point in Queer As Folk, how Brian Kinney was terrified of hitting 30?)
However, I now find myself almost unique among my generation in that I am not afraid of getting older. And I owe it all to reading sex blogs.
It's true. All the best sex blogs are written by old people***. According to my favorites--the ones I first found almost a year ago and kept reading up until this very day--us 20 year olds know absolutely nothing about sex. We are just mouthing our "date"'s twat and fumbling at our "boyfriend"'s ball sacks. At 20 and with a fair number of partners behind me, I can still yearn for a golden age of sex--which seems to come around 40 after a divorce****. While the thought might worry some of you, I adore you people. Your exploits put my adolescent groupings to shame and I want to be just like you when I grow up.
And as for the younger bloggers--i.e., those who have actually reached 30 without keeling over at midnight on their last day as 29ers--you're just like me, only cooler. You're still drinking and wenching pretty girls. You're still figuring out who you are and what you want. And you embrace the exploration boldly.
It would seem, then (at least out here on the fringes of sex and gender and tech and god knows what else) that age no longer matters when you fuck. With the knowledge that I will probably still be getting tail--and lots of it--when I reach the tender age of 40, all the other problems of aging seem more manageable.
Botox? AAG don't need no stinkin' Botox.
Really, it's wonderful. I feel like I can breathe. I feel like I can plan ahead, not just for the next ten or so years, but for the next thirty or forty. It's like being released from a beheading, only instead of running out and seeing everything with hyperkinetic joy and thankfulness I can actually slow down a little. Theoretically.
But maybe it's not just us on the insulated fringy-fringes. Maybe it's actually becoming more mainstream. Did you ever hear those stories about people getting it on in nursing homes? One of my fav stories I read in I think Reader's Digest, about two people who met in a nursing home that would stop the elevator between floors just so they could get some necking privacy. I say good for them.
But I still see it in every day conversations: "Old people having sex, ew." And I used to think that. And sometimes I look at old people and still think that. To my eyes, people who have gotten really up there have a strange topography to their bodies. Which, unless I improve my diet, make plans to undergo several cosmetic surgeries in the coming years, and lose all the fat that some of my fans find so attractive, will probably be just like how I look someday. Hell, someday my boobs might be down to my knees.
Thinking of it that way, you can't say "ew" anymore really. Every time you say "ew", you lose a little bit of your future leeway to fuck when you too are old people. When I'm 40 I expect to be at least 1,000 times more horny than I am now and the last thing I need while making out in the park with my silver-haired beau is a bunch of young twits going "Ew, old people making out! How disgusting!"
Cee says when I'm sixty I'm probably going to be an old pervy lady with a boy toy, but we'll ignore that part. Hell, maybe by that age I will have gotten brave enough to finally buy a vibrator.
____________________________________
*not even the sexy fat that happens in Feederism. In 30-year-old life projections that never happens.
**This really happened, folks. If enough people make inquiries I might even trot down memory lane to post about it.
***Dear everyone who finds this through their blog stats that is incensed at the use of the word "old people": By "old", I mean only "older than I am". Which really isn't very, because I am in my very early 20s. I just think it's fun to poke fun at you because I can. ;)
****It's a trend I see! You can't deny it!
Friday, November 14, 2008
I am going to be at the NYC Sex Bloggers Calendar Release Party TONIGHT!
This, by the way, is what I'm talking about. Just in case you've never heard of it. :)
I really should have planned this better.
If I was a good blogger, I would have hinted I was going a week ago. I would have written a post about my hopes, dreams, fears, and topped it off with an nice boob pic. I would have notified every boy that's within driving distance of NYC that I was coming a week in advance and started sorting though answers to my Craigslist ads. I would have bought a corset.
The reason that I didn't do any of these things was that my life wasn't together enough that I felt financially able to come. Then, 72 hours ago, two things happened:
1. I got another part time job.
2. I found out about the Dragon Coach, which can take me to NYC and back for a total of $40.
Now I am sitting in the same friend's apt. where I first read Working Stiff, with a view of the Empire State Building outside the window.
Just like old times.
So, yeah, I'm gonna be at this party in, like...an hour or so. And Sinclair will be there, who I've never so much as emailed, even though I've been reading the Sugarbutch Chronicles for, oh, about six months now. I don't know whether to squeal with fangirl glee or treat it like a sexy business meeting so all the bloggers there will treat me seriously. (I actually had some business cards made but left them at home.) I wanna have a famous blog someday too, ya know, and it's all about the networking!
Instead I'm a little scared. It's the odd feeling that comes from knowing someone only from what they've written over the internet, where you know as much about them as if you've read their minds...and yet they know absolutely nothing about you. Makes for social awkwardness, at the very least.
And then there's another part that feels like I'm finally starting to live the adventures I used to read about in books. I've never known anyone quite like these people whose blogs I've been following all these months, and, fetish or not, their lives seem to happen in a climate as exotic as India. For example, even though I've tried to be active in the local gay groups back home, I've never met anyone as openly genderqueer as Sinclair...and that's why I became so galvanized when I realized there was a small chance I could attend. Because a part of me doesn't quite believe that these people are true, and what I'm actually going to be attending is a party where some of my favorite fantasy characters have inexplicably come to life.
I really should have planned this better.
If I was a good blogger, I would have hinted I was going a week ago. I would have written a post about my hopes, dreams, fears, and topped it off with an nice boob pic. I would have notified every boy that's within driving distance of NYC that I was coming a week in advance and started sorting though answers to my Craigslist ads. I would have bought a corset.
The reason that I didn't do any of these things was that my life wasn't together enough that I felt financially able to come. Then, 72 hours ago, two things happened:
1. I got another part time job.
2. I found out about the Dragon Coach, which can take me to NYC and back for a total of $40.
Now I am sitting in the same friend's apt. where I first read Working Stiff, with a view of the Empire State Building outside the window.
Just like old times.
So, yeah, I'm gonna be at this party in, like...an hour or so. And Sinclair will be there, who I've never so much as emailed, even though I've been reading the Sugarbutch Chronicles for, oh, about six months now. I don't know whether to squeal with fangirl glee or treat it like a sexy business meeting so all the bloggers there will treat me seriously. (I actually had some business cards made but left them at home.) I wanna have a famous blog someday too, ya know, and it's all about the networking!
Instead I'm a little scared. It's the odd feeling that comes from knowing someone only from what they've written over the internet, where you know as much about them as if you've read their minds...and yet they know absolutely nothing about you. Makes for social awkwardness, at the very least.
And then there's another part that feels like I'm finally starting to live the adventures I used to read about in books. I've never known anyone quite like these people whose blogs I've been following all these months, and, fetish or not, their lives seem to happen in a climate as exotic as India. For example, even though I've tried to be active in the local gay groups back home, I've never met anyone as openly genderqueer as Sinclair...and that's why I became so galvanized when I realized there was a small chance I could attend. Because a part of me doesn't quite believe that these people are true, and what I'm actually going to be attending is a party where some of my favorite fantasy characters have inexplicably come to life.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
But People Don't See My Fetish As Sexy! How Do I Write About It?
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Monday, September 1, 2008
The Experiment
This would have been Molly's 104th post.
On other blogs, such a milestone would count for cake and champagne (or, in my case, a liter of Diet Coke and pack of Mentos.) Instead, Molly has taken a long, hard look at what she wants the future of this blog to be.
When she first came to me, eager to show off what she claimed to be "The Very First Feederism Blog, Anywhere!" I was as excited as she. I am a stuffer myself, and wildly interested in anyone's efforts to legitimize this delightful subculture. A blog devoted particularly to the intestinal workings of the most beautiful of creatures, stuffer boys, made me hurry to my bedroom in anticipation of a long session of critique.
My verdict? A quiet, yet adamant: "It's dull, dear."
Her eyes filled, but I went on: "This isn't at all what you envisioned--where are the descriptions of real life stuffing orgies you've attended? Your creation of a pinhole camera for a tour of the UK, in which you would take glorious black and white photos for Stuffies Magazine, Issue 1? Where are your drafts for Champagne, the full-length fetish novel starring myself, Rufus and Rihanna with full-color illustrations by mamabliss? All you have to show for your hundreds of hours of wanking is a very ugly template--" she protested that all Blogger templates were so--"and a lot of poorly archived photos! And--" I raged on, for this made me the most indignant of all, "what was with your ridiculous insistence on referring to me as fictional?!"
I admit for someone who so loves the softer sex, I can be very hard sometimes. Fortunately, Molly was only briefly dismayed. She knows that the best cure for when I get uppity is to tell me to stuff it-- in this case, by shoving a Twinkie in my mouth. Nevertheless, it required the additional administration of several liters of soda before I was fully quieted.
Later, having eased me by unbuttoning my suddenly-too-tight-clothes, she gently whispered to me the realities of the world. Sex blogging, of whatever kind, is a labor of love, for which few, if any, receive compensation. Her carefree college days are over, along with much of her free time. She must begin a search for a real career--one that will help her pay off the thousands of dollars she has incurred in college loans. The writers of a few of the other sex blogs she reads so voraciously sometimes work out ways to get paid for it, but she has yet to do that--and she feels odd simply asking for handouts. To carry out the projects she's envisioned, she'll need more readers, writers, artists, and fetish enthusiasts to help her--connections she has yet to make. And, she added, since Saturday she has had shooting pains in her right wrist, perhaps the onset of carpal tunnel after all this blogging--
"But," I pointed out as her hand cupped the fullest part of my belly, giving it a gentle squeeze, "it does get you real life dates with stuffer boys."
Though a mention of the Cheesecake Factory is enough to distract me, I do sometimes make some very good points. This one was enough to make her change her whole outlook. And so, as she continued rubbing my stuffed belly and I encouraged her with a gurgle or a moan every now and then, she laid out a new plan for Stuffies. She would try to write Champagne. Every week she would try--she laid particular emphasis on try--to post a new, polished segment of six stories that would have to do with our adventures in stuffing, bloating, and lots of m/m/f sex. I smiled at her projected number of tales.
"And the weekly BBWs and stuffer boys," I urged, "you shouldn't stop those. And Jaime has sent you the next installement in his adventures with the BBW Candy. And--"
She stuffed another Twinkie in my mouth.
But you, dear Reader--how will you keep up with these still-constant, but less scheduled updates? There are lots of ways!
♥ You can subscribe! Click on the box on the left that says "Subscribe to Stuffies"--that will bring you to the Stuffies RSS Feed!
♥ You can friend Molly on Myspace, and receive blog invites and updates from there.
What else can you do to help Molly?
♥ Leave comments! Comments, ideas, and constructive criticism are all welcome!
♥ E-mail Molly! Do you have an article or photo to submit, or just want to send her a link to something feeder-related on the web? You can send her a message on missmollyren (at) gmail (dot) com.
♥ Or you can send her a message on one of her profiles on Fantasy Feeder, Myspace, Fetlife , or Curvage.
"I think I'll answer all my e-mails on Sundays," she said, gently laying her plump thigh across my hip. "And who knows? Maybe someday..."
But what "someday" would be I never got to hear. Cradling my bursting belly, I was already asleep, dreaming of my former adventures...and envisioning those that would come tomorrow.
On other blogs, such a milestone would count for cake and champagne (or, in my case, a liter of Diet Coke and pack of Mentos.) Instead, Molly has taken a long, hard look at what she wants the future of this blog to be.
When she first came to me, eager to show off what she claimed to be "The Very First Feederism Blog, Anywhere!" I was as excited as she. I am a stuffer myself, and wildly interested in anyone's efforts to legitimize this delightful subculture. A blog devoted particularly to the intestinal workings of the most beautiful of creatures, stuffer boys, made me hurry to my bedroom in anticipation of a long session of critique.
My verdict? A quiet, yet adamant: "It's dull, dear."
Her eyes filled, but I went on: "This isn't at all what you envisioned--where are the descriptions of real life stuffing orgies you've attended? Your creation of a pinhole camera for a tour of the UK, in which you would take glorious black and white photos for Stuffies Magazine, Issue 1? Where are your drafts for Champagne, the full-length fetish novel starring myself, Rufus and Rihanna with full-color illustrations by mamabliss? All you have to show for your hundreds of hours of wanking is a very ugly template--" she protested that all Blogger templates were so--"and a lot of poorly archived photos! And--" I raged on, for this made me the most indignant of all, "what was with your ridiculous insistence on referring to me as fictional?!"
I admit for someone who so loves the softer sex, I can be very hard sometimes. Fortunately, Molly was only briefly dismayed. She knows that the best cure for when I get uppity is to tell me to stuff it-- in this case, by shoving a Twinkie in my mouth. Nevertheless, it required the additional administration of several liters of soda before I was fully quieted.
Later, having eased me by unbuttoning my suddenly-too-tight-clothes, she gently whispered to me the realities of the world. Sex blogging, of whatever kind, is a labor of love, for which few, if any, receive compensation. Her carefree college days are over, along with much of her free time. She must begin a search for a real career--one that will help her pay off the thousands of dollars she has incurred in college loans. The writers of a few of the other sex blogs she reads so voraciously sometimes work out ways to get paid for it, but she has yet to do that--and she feels odd simply asking for handouts. To carry out the projects she's envisioned, she'll need more readers, writers, artists, and fetish enthusiasts to help her--connections she has yet to make. And, she added, since Saturday she has had shooting pains in her right wrist, perhaps the onset of carpal tunnel after all this blogging--
"But," I pointed out as her hand cupped the fullest part of my belly, giving it a gentle squeeze, "it does get you real life dates with stuffer boys."
Though a mention of the Cheesecake Factory is enough to distract me, I do sometimes make some very good points. This one was enough to make her change her whole outlook. And so, as she continued rubbing my stuffed belly and I encouraged her with a gurgle or a moan every now and then, she laid out a new plan for Stuffies. She would try to write Champagne. Every week she would try--she laid particular emphasis on try--to post a new, polished segment of six stories that would have to do with our adventures in stuffing, bloating, and lots of m/m/f sex. I smiled at her projected number of tales.
"And the weekly BBWs and stuffer boys," I urged, "you shouldn't stop those. And Jaime has sent you the next installement in his adventures with the BBW Candy. And--"
She stuffed another Twinkie in my mouth.
But you, dear Reader--how will you keep up with these still-constant, but less scheduled updates? There are lots of ways!
♥ You can subscribe! Click on the box on the left that says "Subscribe to Stuffies"--that will bring you to the Stuffies RSS Feed!
♥ You can friend Molly on Myspace, and receive blog invites and updates from there.
What else can you do to help Molly?
♥ Leave comments! Comments, ideas, and constructive criticism are all welcome!
♥ E-mail Molly! Do you have an article or photo to submit, or just want to send her a link to something feeder-related on the web? You can send her a message on missmollyren (at) gmail (dot) com.
♥ Or you can send her a message on one of her profiles on Fantasy Feeder, Myspace, Fetlife , or Curvage.
"I think I'll answer all my e-mails on Sundays," she said, gently laying her plump thigh across my hip. "And who knows? Maybe someday..."
But what "someday" would be I never got to hear. Cradling my bursting belly, I was already asleep, dreaming of my former adventures...and envisioning those that would come tomorrow.
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."
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."
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
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.
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.
"I really liked that: "I don't fuck for respect. I fuck for fun." I'd never heard that before."
______________________
* 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.
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!"
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.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Capitol Pride + Baywords is FAIL part II
I just came back from Capitol Pride... my second Pride ever, by the way... and we got yelled at by a sterotypical religious fundamentalist who may or may not be famous, I danced with the saddest butch, and Max and I bickered and got lost and nearly died of heat exhaustion and still came out of it like brother and sister (albeit very snarky ones) with a whole pile of awesome gay swag.
In short, I have SO MANY stories to tell you.
And my Baywords blog is still broken.
Every link to another page I have created sends you to a page reading "No input file specified", making it virtually unreadable. I've sent Piratebay numerous e-mails (though not the one-every-three-hours method approved by my editior at the small, independant newspaper where I work. That's the method you use "when you don't trust them." I mean, they are pirates...)
What to do?
I have not-quite-right blogs scattered over the internets by now... a defunct LJ, now used by Jaime to comment on my new LJ... my old Blogger blog, abandoned for Baywords... this LJ, created especially for my perverted self... and the now broken Baywords blog.
The old Blogger blog, called "Molly Loves", might be able to be resuscitated. Heck, I only left because of an old Violet Blue reccomendation, and lots of other sex bloggers don't seem to have a problem with it. I could give it a facelift, transfer all my new entries, and be ready to sign up for the Sugasm by next week.
But Blogger doesn't have all these nifty features, like making your own pages where you can put vital information (like how to submit a stuffer boy photo). For that I'd have to go to Wordpress.
What do you guys think? Should I give the old Blogger a facelift and press it back into service, or play a game of cat and mouse with the Wordpress (as yet unknown to me) censorship rules?
EDIT 6/16/08: Since Wordpress' Terms of Service states a blog cannot have content that is "obscene, libelous or defamatory", guess which route I chose?
In short, I have SO MANY stories to tell you.
And my Baywords blog is still broken.
Every link to another page I have created sends you to a page reading "No input file specified", making it virtually unreadable. I've sent Piratebay numerous e-mails (though not the one-every-three-hours method approved by my editior at the small, independant newspaper where I work. That's the method you use "when you don't trust them." I mean, they are pirates...)
What to do?
I have not-quite-right blogs scattered over the internets by now... a defunct LJ, now used by Jaime to comment on my new LJ... my old Blogger blog, abandoned for Baywords... this LJ, created especially for my perverted self... and the now broken Baywords blog.
The old Blogger blog, called "Molly Loves", might be able to be resuscitated. Heck, I only left because of an old Violet Blue reccomendation, and lots of other sex bloggers don't seem to have a problem with it. I could give it a facelift, transfer all my new entries, and be ready to sign up for the Sugasm by next week.
But Blogger doesn't have all these nifty features, like making your own pages where you can put vital information (like how to submit a stuffer boy photo). For that I'd have to go to Wordpress.
What do you guys think? Should I give the old Blogger a facelift and press it back into service, or play a game of cat and mouse with the Wordpress (as yet unknown to me) censorship rules?
EDIT 6/16/08: Since Wordpress' Terms of Service states a blog cannot have content that is "obscene, libelous or defamatory", guess which route I chose?
Baywords is FAIL
Dear PirateBay,
My Baywords blog is broken after the outage. Every link to another page that I created on the site, every link to a "read more", and even the RSS feed button sends me to a page that says "no input file specified".
I try to go to the "help" page, but I have to sign in to do it, and it says my username does not exist. Therefore I cannot even use the forums or help page to get help. The "comments" on the baywords home page also lead to a page that says "no input file specified".
This is not the kind of service I expected when I signed up to use Baywords. If the problem isn't cleared up in the next few days I am deleting my account because my blog is made unreadable by the broken links.
I hope you will answer promptly,
Molly Ren
missmollyren@gmail.com
http://mollyren.baywords.com/
My Baywords blog is broken after the outage. Every link to another page that I created on the site, every link to a "read more", and even the RSS feed button sends me to a page that says "no input file specified".
I try to go to the "help" page, but I have to sign in to do it, and it says my username does not exist. Therefore I cannot even use the forums or help page to get help. The "comments" on the baywords home page also lead to a page that says "no input file specified".
This is not the kind of service I expected when I signed up to use Baywords. If the problem isn't cleared up in the next few days I am deleting my account because my blog is made unreadable by the broken links.
I hope you will answer promptly,
Molly Ren
missmollyren@gmail.com
http://mollyren.baywords.com/
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