Welcome to my first blog and my first blog entry. I’m starting this because quite frankly, it would be rude not to. I need an outlet to express my deepest thoughts, feelings, hopes and desires. I also need a safe haven to talk about all the fucked up shit that goes through my sick and twisted mind. I’m usually not very shy about letting loose in public, but I fear sooner or later I will lose control completely and with no filter whatsoever defame myself, my loved ones and everyone in earshot with a stream of consciousness so upsetting I won’t ever be able to look at myself in the mirror again. Chances are, that’s going to happen anyway. Oh well. I’ll try to mix it up and be as random as possible with my entries. At the very least, I hope to entertain my closest of friends and those that stumble upon this page. Enjoy yourselves, it would be rude not to.
Rude Not To
Because it would be rude not to. It really would.
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Dear Abby,
Let me begin by saying that I am a scat man. Always have been. There may be certain accountability owed to mother’s side of the family. They are from Stuttgart. I chub-up at the mere mention of anything scatalogical. While I am not ashamed of my penchant for doodoo, I recently found myself in a slightly off-putting predicament – one that has since caused serious introspection.
You see, in my experience, there are two kinds of men, “Heat Men” and “Moisture Men”, and rarely are the two predilections comingled. I myself am self anointed “Heat Man”. When my lover blesses me with a gloriously fresh dump on my chest, I’ll have you know that I am covered chin to taint in cellophane. Frequently, I use more than two layers of protection to ensure moisture and errant fecal matter are completely locked out from contact with the flesh. Sure, you can call it OCD if you want to, but it’s just my preference. As no novice, my moisture lock strategy is carefully tempered by not over-wrapping either, as too many layers of protection reduce proper heat transfer, and overall eroticism is severely compromised.
On to my predicament. Last Sunday afternoon I found myself in the middle of a steamy sphincter blasting free-for-all with several visiting members of the NAMBLA Frankfurt Chapter (I chair the local NAMBLA “Frisco” Hospitality and Welcome Committee). Predictably, creative ass-play took center stage. As is the case with most poo-cano veterans, the recipient (in this case yours truly) is typically given time to don protection (safety first, always). Perhaps it was the language/cultural barrier but I soon and very unexpectedly found myself on the receiving end of several violent and abrupt euro scat spray downs – all the while completely unprotected! So strange that universal etiquette was completely abandoned, but I digress. What’s even stranger is that I liked it – I mean really – whew! I even have a semi-rigid husky right now at the mere thought!
Abby, is my grip on sanity slipping? What if I become a Moisture Man? What will Lance say?
Any advice would be greatly appreciated.
Very Truly Yours,
Enal Angus
P.S. – Are you a Heat Man or a Moisture Man?
Although the letter from Enal was not addresses to me specifically, but being an experienced hand in the scatalogical arts, I am compelled to address his concerns.
The adage “When in Rome” does not apply in the aforementioned circumstance described as the Frankfurt gents were visiting Enal in the States. In this circumstance, I feel like proper ettiquette would dictate that the Dieter and Jens announce their penchant for moisture prior to the ass-plosions to follow. The fact that Enal chubbed up is neither here nor there in these circumstances.
Moisture Men have long been looked down upon Stateside in the burgeoning scat tossing community. Heat is the preferred discipline west of Europe, but I’m starting to find that whether you enjoy Heat over Moisture or vise versa, common curtosy dictates that the receiver shall have the opportunity to choose his or her as the French say “méthode pour la réception”.
I hope you find this helpful,
Scatman