Friday, June 25, 2010

The Lipstick Lumberjack


The highlight of last week's first event was dressing someone in my own outfit (again!) -- it was the trannie party.

A masculine man was wearing tight fitting black patent leather high heels, fishnets and and a fancy complicated black leather corset with four small straps looped over each pectoral muscle to create the shape of a breast. Nice!
He had a beard, no makeup and was surprisingly wearing a long sleeved flannel plaid shirt (opened to expose the corset) creating the appearance of a Mountain Man/Lumberjack, with S&M trannie leanings. Masculine, yet feminine. Sexy!

I went up and complimented him on his outfit, but said how much sexier he'd look if he took off the shirt. He said it was his first time there, and that he was shy. (Shy?! This coming from a Lumberjack in fishnets and high heels?!)
So we chatted a bit and I tried to make him feel comfortable, maybe even try on some of my clothes since he said the high heels were tight and uncomfortable. He said he was a men's size 12. I told him I was a men's size 13 and my high heeled boots were comfortable, so I suggested he try them one. Would he do that? Yes. So I took off his shoes and zipped and laced my own boots onto each leg. The whole time he was sitting on a table suspended by chains and I was sitting on a leather chair adjacent to it. He was about 12 inches higher and on my right side. Behind me on the wall read a sign: "Zero Tolerance for Drugs or Prostitution."

As I slipped my footwear onto him, it was clear that his foot would fit, but his beefy calves could barely be contained by the confines of a zippered knee-high boot. But I made them fit!

Footwear down.
What's next?
Hair! I asked if he wanted to wear my huge (five-wig-combo) brunette behemoth. He did -- it would minimize what a large man he was -- a 6'3" Lumberjack in my platform high heeled boots with the same wig given to the Israeli Giraffe. Anything to make these giant "girls" female, feminine and petite! I shamelessly took it off in public, caring less what any of the chasers thought; I wasn't doing this for them. But it was a show we were putting on and people were watching. The Lumberjack loved the wig, shaking it around, demonstrating its bounce!

But the Shirt!
How could any of this make sense with that damn shirt on?
What would it take to get it off? I had already given him my boots and wig. What needed to happen? I asked again.
"Lipstick. Could you put some lipstick on me?"
I didn't have any on hand since I (still!) only use black liquid eyeliner as my lipstick.
"Do you have any?" I asked.
"Yes!"
And there in his little bag was a stick of lipstick to be applied to his eagerly awaiting lips.
It seemed part of his trip was for me to put it on him, Not him.
So I applied it to his thin lips -- trying to avoid the whiskers of his thick mustache and beard -- and watched as he instinctively rubbed his lips together to evenly smear it around.
It reminded me of being made-over in 3rd grade at the Elementary School's carnival as the girl-who-knew-what-she-was-doing applied lipstick to my lips and I instinctively smeared my lips together to spread it around -- having watched my mother do it. "You know how to do this!" she responded in amazement at the 9 year old queer boy. I smiled proudly, "Yes I do!"

Lipstick applied, the man slowly took off the plaid flannel shirt he had been hiding behind all night! He was still shy, but feeling it -- feeling feminine and somehow complete. The lipstick gave him the power to complete the transformation. No one could see the lipstick, but he could feel it and that's all that mattered. He looked in the giant mirror and soaked in the image we had created together. And all was good in the world!

And once again, I was there to help. As is my duty and obligation.

The following day was a Bear Party and I was hoping to have the sex I never had the night before; it didn't happen. I tried fucking a friend who hasn't been fucked in over a decade and all I ended up doing was putting a couple fingers up his ass and calling it a day. Zzzz...

We spent a lot of time laying down, feeling each others' bodies and talking about reality shows and life in general. Very casual. Very friendly, but there was a strong urge to hold his hairless body next to me. (What was a hairless person doing at a Bear party?! He said by comparison, it made him feel skinny! It did the same for me! Hanging out with bigger, older men makes you feel young, skinny and desired!)

We ended up going out to dinner after the party. It was great to have someone who's company you thoroughly enjoy, but there's also a sexual impulse to wanna get-with-him. And that impulse is returned.

That was an afternoon event and by the time evening rolled around it was time for The Main Event: the LGBT Pride Party and performing (in drag) a routine that I had been rehearsing with Coat Check Kelly all week. I don't want to spoil anything because we're going to make a video of it and I want to post it here. I will tell you the audience loved it as we lipsynched to our own voices. A story was told and it was understood and totally embraced! It made me ready to perform again! But first, we have to make that video!

Feeling the rush of the performance, I was standing near the coat check area when an incredibly sexy guy came up to Kelly and was asking for me. Or rather, he was asking for "the owner of the club." He knew me by name, but he knew me as a guy and what stood before him was a giant drag queen in high-heeled boots. Kelly pointed me out.
"There he is!"
The sexy Latin just laughed and walked away.
Kelly said the guy had eaten out with us once before -- after a party.
He did look familiar. And definitely sexy. But clearly my outfit was not sustaining interest. He was not a trannie chaser!
Kelly also mentioned that the guy was a power bottom and when I saw him a little later, he was already getting fucked by an older chubby guy. Unacceptable! That ass belonged to me!

So I ran upstairs, washed off my makeup and switched into my boy clothes. Or rather, man clothes: black combat boots and a black leather-looking jock strap. (Actually it was rubber with foam lining.)
I searched around -- a man-on-a-mission -- and found him (the HOT guy looking for me) in the same area I had seen him before, sucking the guy's dick who had just been fucking him. His ass was sticking out, but the guy who's dick he was sucking had his hand on his ass, fingering his hole.

No! That hole is mine!
So I felt up the other butt cheek aggressively, prompting the bottom to turn around. And there I stood, with my newly pumped up beefy pecs asking if I could fuck him.
"Yeah."
(Yes!)
So I got hard, got a condom and started fucking him doggy-style as he sucked the guys' dick.
AND I DIDN'T STOP FUCKING HIM FOR 90 MINUTES!
I wanted to prove to him what a power top I could be and he clearly loved it.

We took a break once to clean up and start over again.
And at one point as he sucked my dick, I played with his ass and invited someone over to fuck it -- as though it belonged to me and I got to choose who fucked it and when.
Hot!

(There was also a time -- actually at two locations -- where a woman played right next to us and thanked us for fulfilling a fantasy: she had always wanted to watch a guy get fucked by another guy. She even gave me a flogger to use on either of them, but I was too busy fucking to use it properly.)

I told my bottom guy that I like to spit and slap and do some rough stuff, but all he allowed me to do was spit on his balls and ass. So I did a lot of that. I also sat on his face and ended up cumming on his chest. He used my cum as lubricant to masturbate himself and shot his own load as I fingered his hole. Perfect!

And a good time was had by all!

Sort of.
Toward the end of our play, as we were getting close to finishing and I was really pounding him, a good friend stood nearby and kept saying loudly how hot my fucking was. Great! I appreciate the good review, but don't stand by and comment on my behavior AS I'M DOING IT and NOT STOP TALKING! It's like a critic standing up in the middle of the audience during a performance and commenting on the play AS IT'S GOING ON! Rude! (No matter how positive the review might be, it's distracting and unappreciated.)

So I wrote him an email and said I appreciated the sentiment, but next time, either join in (he's very young and sexy, so that could be fun!), stand and watch quietly, or just move on. Otherwise it's too much of a distraction.

Yes, I like to (sometimes) put on a show, but a blow-by-blow account of the action?
No! Ain't gonna happen -- not in my club!

Monday, June 14, 2010

Blood Clot




I reached in deep and pulled out her bloody tampon.

Who was she? I don't know. I never even saw her -- she was long gone. But I'm keeping the evidence for DNA testing to find out who she is, because it was her bloody tampon that made my weekend a living hell.

The blood clot began a week earlier (while I was fucking an 11-toed Latin man in a Florida swamp). It was at a lesbian S&M party. Not my thing -- women. I hate them now. Is that misogynistic? Who cares? Let them spend two days trying to clean up the mess they created and see how they feel about themselves!

A word to the ladies: learn how to dispose of your tampons properly as the signs indicate.
But someone ignored those signs and her bloody tampon didn't wreak its havoc until a week later, when I casually entered the basement party space the Saturday afternoon before my own party began.

Immediately I noticed a River Running Through It (the basement). Was there a flood from the roof? Rain water? I went to the bathroom area and noticed the sewage was coming up through the drain pipes adjacent to the toilets. I flushed them. And more came up through the drain hole.

FUCK! It was my nightmare. Again! I checked the front sewer trap to see if the clog was there (I won't make the mistake again of not checking that first). It was clear at that point: the clog/clot was further up inside. I'd have to rent a snake from Home Depot (again) and clear it out before that evening's party. Otherwise I'd have to cancel the event.
I called the lesbian promoter to assist. Not available? Fuck you! It's your lady/ladies who plugged it up -- it's your responsibility to UNplug it.

But she couldn't.
So I found help elsewhere. Someone was willing to go with me to Home Depot to rent the industrial sized snake and get out whatever was in there. Was it even a tampon? The promoter said it likely wasn't -- that she had been at the space throughout the week and used the bathroom and there was never a backup.
(But I know these things can take a while to percolate -- it's not always instant.)

So we did it.
I cleared it.
But the only thing I was able to pull out was one piece of paper toweling! Was that it? It didn't matter -- the water was running smoothly from the toilets and sinks without backup and that was the important thing. I probably loosened up whatever was in there.
Crisis averted.

We had to rush to get the place clean and smelling good (burning Sage again!) But the party started on time and everyone was happy!

For about two hours.

At the height of the party, someone came up and said "There's some water coming up..."
"Oh shit." Literally.
And my nightmare quadrupled.
I got the wet vac and sucked out the drain (not too helpful) and got squeegees to move the water from one area to the drain at the other end of the space. (We couldn't get it to stop.)
Just then my current favorite 21 year old showed up to play. "Sorry -- I have raw sewage running through my party space. Can't play right now!" -- is what I thought. All that came out was "I'm busy."

We put caution tape around the drainage area of the club to keep people away from the Lesbian Crime Scene. No need to be around that hole -- it didn't look particularly inviting, with the toilet paper, dirty water and perhaps a few indistinguishable chunks-of-whatever around it.

But it didn't smell! Thank god!
Truth be told, it was really more water than anything else. Toilet water, yes, but maybe 5% urine and that's substantially less than we get at the Piss Parties and no one complains about the wet floors there! As long as no one defecated, we were in the clear. So to speak.

The DJ made an announcement that people try to avoid "the puddles being created by a water leak." No one seemed to care. They tracked the "water" through much of the club, especially in the maze area, but the back play areas were dry and fresh!

We also diverted their attention by throwing someone a spontaneous birthday party with two Entenmann's cakes and 5 candles, with paper plates and forks. It was a last minute purchase, but once we all sang "Happy Birthday" and he blew out the candles, the chocolate confection provided the perfect distraction from the raw sewage flowing around our feet.

The remainder of the evening was spent squeegeeing the water through the maze area, past the DJ and the precut slices of chocolate cake on paper plates and into the drain at the front.
The only mishap I witnessed was someone in footie socks trying to avoid the puddle by jumping across it, missing the dry edge by 20 inches and slipping back into the river.
But he was young and athletic and recovered quickly. I suggested he take a shower, not really explaining why.

Someone even asked where all the water was "leaking from." I just pointing in the direction of the bathrooms/plumbing and said "over there."

Three hours later
, the final people departed and our small group of friends went out to eat at a local diner. I had no intention of dealing with the clog that night or cleaning up anything. I was too exhausted.

After only four hours of sleep I hit the ground running Sunday for a Piss Party starting at 5pm. The promoters would be there at 4pm to set things up so my time was incredibly limited to get to Home Depot, clear the clog and clean up all the condoms and lube and yes, even some big chunks of poop that erupted out of the drain -- before they arrived for their own version of fun. And raw sewage is not part of their aesthetic. We had to cancel one of their parties before for exactly the same reason. I just needed to find someone willing and able to help me transport the snake. Again.

I called up the lesbian promoter again to inform her that last night's party was a disaster, the pipes were still clogged and that it was essential I get her assistance this time.
But she was "At a Pride event in New Jersey... sorry..."
Are you kidding me? I'm cleaning out your shit while you party?
I was livid -- my head ready to explode. Who was going to help me this time?

And then along came my Knight in Shining Armor, a masculine top man with a deep voice, incredible smile and the dick of death who lives in the neighborhood and had the afternoon available. (He's also an occasional fuck buddy -- a rare good top!)
Score!

I got access to a friend's SUV and talked to the (now familiar) folk at Home Depot about the best way to clear a clog. Different tools can attached to the end of the snake to ensnare whatever's in there, as long as you know what might be clogging it. The day before I had apparently used the wrong tool -- and pulled it out in reverse mode.

So I tried it again, with my top man behind me as I was bent over. He pushed on the power pad that made the snake spin as I fed it into the hole. (Home Depot said to always keep it spinning in a foward direction, otherwise you might not retrieve the clog). Eventually I couldn't feed it in anymore, so I pulled it out, but again, only found a paper towel.

In again it went, as far deep as the snake could be pushed. I could feel the power coming from the man behind me. I was equal parts exhausted and exhilarated as I pushed myself to my physical limits.

When it was impossible to continue any further, the snake was pulled out. Again.

Only this time unusual farting noises could be heard as air attempted to escape. Something was happening. Something big. Something substantially greater than the previous day's attempt to clear out the hole.

Just as the snake's tip was pulled out, the final fart pushed out a plethora of sewage as brown liquid erupted into the trap, allowing the fresh water from the sinks to make its way through the system. It was clear!

So what was inside the trap that had been clogging my constipated pipes for the last two days?
Yes, the aforemention bloody tampon: I picked it up with my gloved hand and rested it on the cement edge of the trap where it still sits, waiting to be returned to its rightful owner, once we take the hair samples of all woman who enter the premises and the DNA results come back.

And there was something else. Completely unexpected.
The landlord has a new Female Dog that they let run around on their roof top. She chewed up a white plastic drain cover, that subsequently flowed down the drain pipe and wreaked havoc of its own.

Several pieces of that plastic drain cover were mixed in with the bloody tampon. It was the perfect storm, inside our pipes.

Once that clot passed, everything flowed smoothly from that point on. My TopMan generously helped us set up and we opened the doors only 5 minutes late. Not bad considering the non-stop work that took place prior to the first person walking through the doors of a freshly cleaned basement - only to get covered in piss minutes later.

I went into the backroom and sucked my Knight's big dick.
Thank you, Universe, I could finally relax!

Still, when it comes to bloody tampons and chewed drainage covers, I have to admit I really hate that Bitch!

And the lesbian promoter? I still love her.
She wasn't the one who put the tampon down the toilet, which most woman do anyway.

But is it really necessary that I tell her about the plastic drain cover that was probably the bigger culprit in the clot?
No, let her feel bad for a while since she wasn't there to help out when I needed her!

NOW who's the bitch?

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Monster Mash/Up on Memorial Day Weekend



With the summer fast approaching, it seemed a good time to go camping in Florida before it got too hot. So for Memorial Day Weekend I booked a campsite in the middle of Florida, hoping I might find some Southern Comfort. And boy did I!

Arriving in the middle of a rain storm, there were two young-ish Latin men checking in at the same time. And as it ended up, they had the campsite right next to us! We even shared the same electrical outlet!
I was shamelessly flirting in the office, with one in particular. And he seemed to appreciate the attention, which egged me on even further. His sparkling brown eyes reminded me of a young Marlon Brando with a great smile, perfect teeth and dimpled cheeks.

As we set up the campsite, I was aggressively pushing my body into him, mostly his backside, since that seemed to be the direction he wanted.

Oh fuck it.
Let's just cut to the chase:
Later that evening we got naked naked in his tent and I fucked him so good that he came without even touching himself (he said that was the third time in his life that had happened) and the next day I discovered he had six toes on one foot -- the first time I had ever seen one, let alone provided an orgasm for someone so freakishly disfigured.

Ok, so it was only a little freaky, but I liked the randomness of the discovery: "Oh -- WOW -- you have six toes there!" And he was wearing flip flops the whole time, so it's not like he was hiding it.
It was like the physical manifestation of my own internal weirdness. Very Lady Gaga (more on her later). I may not appear disfigured on the outside, but get a chance to know me and... well, whatever.
We all have our issues.

After he had his orgasm, he was tired and wanted to take a nap.
Not me. I was still orgasmless.

The evening was still young, so I went to the rec hall where they had dancing. I stripped naked (the only one to do so) and made a spectacle of myself. Earlier in the evening during Bingo, the organizer insisted I pull down my pants and show my dick. Which I did happily -- I even completely stripped down -- my preferred way to be while camping! So for the rest of the weekend I became known as "The Naked Guy."

While dancing naked to Lady Gaga (which the DJ played every third song -- one night he played "Bad Romance" five times!) a very masculine guy with a deep tan, tattoos and even deeper voice (like a biker on acid with spiky bleached hair) had jeans that kept falling off his butt, exposing his ass crack and a major tan line. As dark as his tan was, his ass was that much whiter. I was helpless.
There is nothing better than the tan line of an ass (except maybe eating it). It helps if it's nicely rounded too! But the juxtaposition of light against dark seems to amplify its size. It's like seeing something that's been hidden from daylight. Literally! A secret Garden of Earthly Delights! Tempting me...

So I fucked him too.
...in his giant motor home with its own indoor shower, kitchen, complete with landscaping on a permanent spot at the campground.
As it turned out he also managed a sex club (surprise!) so we exchanged the minutia of sex club protocol -- the ins and outs of how a club is run, so to speak.
Several days later I ran into him at a popular used clothing store in Fort Lauderdale.
"Small world," he said. Walt Disney was right.

On my last evening at the campground, I finally found someone to dance naked with -- someone I had been playing with earlier in the pool, where his legs were wrapped around my waist and his hole was open for business.
Why was I being presented with so many bottoms?

So I fucked him too.
But the build up to doing it was fun:
Since we had already been naked together at the pool and he had one of the best washboard stomachs on the campground, I insisted he get naked on the dance floor with me. It was the final night of a holiday weekend; I wouldn't take no for an answer.

As we danced naked together, I was being offered Mud Slides (which I preferred to the jello shots) while on the dance floor and loved the chocolaty flavor of the liqueur. (I think I have a new favorite mixed cocktail!)
"I'd love to lick this out of your ass," I joked to him, knowing how clean and smooth his hole would be from playing with it earlier in the day.
"Ok."
"You mean I can really lick this out of your crack?"
"Yeah."
"Right now? Outside?"
"Sure."

So we immediately vacated the rec hall and there among the snakes, geckos and armadillos (I saw all of them over the weekend!) he bent over and I poured two mudslides down his crack and licked them up as they arrived at his hole. I was in heaven.
Just like that guy who ate the chocolate Easter bunny out of a guy's ass, I got to lick chocolate at the entrance to this man's hole... his perfectly smooth hole attached to a lean body... bending over for me in the woods... exquisite!

So we went back to the motor home he was staying in (it belonged to a friend) and I fucked him for a while, eventually asking if there was anything more he'd like to do.
"I like getting fisted."
"Ok."
And so the previously mentioned J-Lube was brought out -- the slimy horror movie goo that fit perfectly with the campground's boggy Spanish moss environment -- very Swamp Creature. Suddenly I was the central character of a zombie movie taking place in the middle of the Florida everglades -- grabbing at his intestines via the rectum!

It was simply too much to keep private, so I insisted he let me fist him in a public sling in a small area in the woods that was designed for sex play. A platform had been built with glory holes to walk up to, so people on the other side of the wall could suck your dick while standing, similar to Blow Buddies, a sex club in San Francisco.

And to the side of the platform, a sling had been set up. And there, we put on a fisting show to a throng of onlookers curious about what "The Naked Guy" and his youthfully lean protege were into.

But it was getting late and we were exhausted from all the outdoor play (including a very sunny afternoon at the pool) so without even cumming that night we slept in his cooled motor home, waking up with hard ons and a need to cum. So I fucked him again, but my dick wasn't enough to finish him off -- he needed a morning fist up his ass!

So I indulged him once again and we both shot our loads, bringing my weekend at the campground to a satisfying climax.

Friday, June 4, 2010

My Israeli Giraffe


So what happens when a person shows up at the wrong party?
Sometimes they have the date wrong, sometimes they're passing by and see that something's happening, so they check it out.

On this particular Friday evening, the original piss party was happening, where many of the gentleman are older. A Caucasian age-appropriate transvestite showed up wearing a wig, full makeup, woman's clothing and a lot of perfume, thinking it was the trannie-and-their-admirers party, which was the following Friday.

The promoters at the door explained to her this was a piss party, it was all men, and that she'd have to shower off the perfume which was overwhelming to the point of being distracting and offensive.
She agreed.
I was never privy to what she did downstairs, but I was at the door when she left and her hair was wet and flat, her makeup was barely visible except for some eye liner, her outfit was in shambles and she said she had a good time. Not bad for arriving at the wrong event!

Unfortunately for someone from the other side of the tracks (a trannie chaser looking for "girls" who stopped by later) a piss party for men-only was not his cup of tea. The promoters weren't there to explain things (they had joined their party) and the man looked familiar, so I thought he was there for the piss party. He was African American with a good attitude, but in less than five minutes he came back to the door saying it wasn't the party he expected. His donation was returned and it made me realize a lot of trannie chasers are NOT bisexual. No broad interests here -- this guy was definitely straight identified and not having it (but still friendly to me). And that one "girl" who was already down there? I think she was busy. And likely not his type, especially with the drag persona essentially pissed off her body.

The following night was the party for the entire LGBT community, where diversity reigns.

My highlight was getting a young lean 6'4'' Israeli man with dental braces and nerd glasses to try on some drag clothes. I was also dressed up to be a hostess, and had seen him getting a blow job from a trannie, so I figured he'd be into something in that arena. He said he had never dressed up before, so I gave him my men's size 13 high heeled platform boots, a Pucci- inspired baby doll dress and a giant wig from a movie I produced that's actually five brunette wigs sewn together. It looked perfect on him! Prompting us to make out.
Once again I was a lesbian!

Being 6'4" the boots easily added another 6 inches, bringing his height to almost seven feet. The low ceilings coupled with his first time in high heels created quite the giraffe effect, as he awkwardly tried doing a runway walk at my request. I even took pictures, including his height-appropriately-sized penis, which I sucked in the DJ lounge before a crowd of onlookers.

There was almost a romantic feeling as he frequently adjusted my outfit to make sure it looked just right while we interacted and I did my hostessing dutes. He was taking care of his girl! And whenever I sat down his arm was right there to support my back and provide a warm embrace. What a gentleman! He really attended to my needs in a very subtle way. (Or maybe as I later learned, he might be a bit OCD about things being perfect with regard to my outfit looking right!)

When the party was nearing an end, I needed to change back to my male persona and take off the dark makeup and large white wig I was wearing.
As a test I walked by the Israeli giraffe and looked at him straight in the eyes.
He ignored me!
He didn't have a clue who I was!
A couple minutes later I came back and introduced myself as the girl he was just playing with. It took him a while to adjust to my new look, but he was into me as a boy and he joined the staff for breakfast at a local diner after the party ended.

He's back in Israel now for the summer, perhaps visiting some of the Hasidic communities he grew up in. It doesn't surprise me that with his gentle nature he used to live in a Hasidic community complete with long hair and Payos that were recently cut off. I have a fetish for Hasidic men, have I mentioned that before? Something about acting out from a conservative lifestyle. Plus I think Jewish guys are physically sexy.

Is it possible a romantic seed was planted with my Israeli giraffe?

Well, a week later I ran into an acquaintance -- a bi-racial student with dreadlocks from France that was surprisingly into me. We were very sexually compatible and fucked two days in a row. He even spent the night at my apartment in Manhattan and I fucked him in the morning. He orgasmed 10 seconds before my roommate walked in the door!

So... romance?
Let's just say I'll continue to sow my wild oats in the field known as "a private residential space where sex parties occur."
And I'll bide my time...