So, this might be too much info, but I was really, ahem, horny when I got home. No one was home, so I figured that I would check my email briefly then take a short sojourn to spend some time with an old friend I call Jergin’s.

Anyway, right before I excused myself to take care of bidness, I decided I had time to summarily check my friends list before hand…no pun intended. BIG mistake. I am a member of several online goth-fetish-ish communities on LJ and as a result I was only 25 entries back before I was bombarded with a slew of images that completely robbed me of my desire to masturbate entirely. That is no small feat, I mean, I have been beating my family since I was a small child mind you, so I am a hardened pro at this. I have masturbated at every job I have held for more than a week, a few churches, an art museum, while driving, while sewing, and even a few times while I was playing video games I took on the task of handling two joy sticks at once, if you catch my drift.

Once I even took Big Jim and the Boys out and did what I call “The Propeller Trick” to a bunch of Dave Mathew’s Band fans after one of his concerts. Imagine that! One minute you are enjoying the afterglow of Dave Mathew’s soothing tunes, the next you are being treated to some guy waving his Johnson out a car window at you. There are some fucked up people out there, and I am proud to be one of them!

The point is, I am no lightweight when it comes to this and I figured that nothing could stop me.

What stopped me dead in my tracks was fetish photography. God damn, I seriously hate MOST fetish photography. Of the many things that have ever incited an erection for me, women, goth women, warm air, long drives, waking up, going to sleep, seeing visible g-strings, class M planets, ass jiggling, being alive in an oxygen based atmosphere, and many other things, there is only one thing that springs readily to mind as something that has never given me wood, and that is fetish photography. Congratulations you ass hats. You sunk my bonership.

Anyway, today it was some scene of your standard women in underwear doing sort of mean things to a guy in a thong. Among the many acts of sorta edgy meanness was the strategic placement of clothespins. The thing is, it was so staged and, god, sorry to speak so openly, but isn’t fetish supposed to be about stretching the bounds of sexuality and pushing the envelop? Isn’t the point to present something that borders on fear into the bedroom to elicit an elevated level of excitement? Isn’t that what all the intimidating chains, spikes and black leather are for?

If that is the case, I have to announce, I AM NOT AFRAID OF CLOTHESPINS! Clothespins are NOT fetish you ass hats! Seriously! I have never, in my life been scared, nor aroused by a clothespin. I have hung a number of PANTS up to dry with them, but that is it. So what, is laundry day now a fetish? Should I grab myself a big bottle of Tide and soap up my genitals for the next fetish night? Maybe I could make myself a thong out of dryer sheets, that would be WAY edgy!

I’ll start a fetish movement! We’ll call ourselves “Laundro-naughts”. We will take pictures of people chained to Maytags…oh holy shit! There’s another good idea! We will all have sexual fixations about uniforms, but not good ones, no. We will all dress up like Maytag repairmen! SEXY!

You laugh, but you’ll see, my sexual movement will sweep the nation. People will discard their long standing habits of putting electrical tap on their nipples and replace by affixing laundry detergent measuring cups on the tit-tays. I predict that by summer of 2005 you will not be able to open to any page of Skin 2 without seeing some sick ass weirdo violating a pile of laundry or some other such depravity.