feral musings – feralslut.blog

Sweet As Whole // 0:42 – 1:02

“And it turns out I’m actually kind of a bitch. But that only happens when I get provoked by some piece of shit asshole we all sadly know. And I sit and I write while reminding you all that mean songs are still better than going postal.” – Sara Bareilles

After a pretty fun and I’d say successful 7 or 8 months of hanging out at Club G pretty much every single weekend, we’ve made a shitload of friends. J & I both have never felt so at ease in such a sea of people, whether we know them or not. We’re constantly meeting & talking to new people, something we struggled like a mother fucker to do in any other social situation we’ve found ourselves in.

But unfortunately because of the culture of our country & the lack of any real sex education to be found, sometimes we (I) stumble across shitty people. Especially outside of a lifestyle club environment, but as I’ve mentioned before because of what the club offers once in awhile an asshole acts like not an asshole long enough to cause a little chaos.

When it comes to sexual education, consent was not something generally talked about in public school sex education when I was growing up. Not to the extent it should have been touched upon anyway. We learned what everything looked like & how it worked, we learned how to properly put condoms on a banana & we learned that if we got pregnant, we were fucked in every sense of the word. I don’t recall there ever being a concrete, no frills discussion around what consent is, why it matters and how to use it.

Club D goes above and beyond (in my opinion) in trying to educate new members about consent and the general expected behavior at the club. I know I’ve described it like a slutty piece of paradise, which it is, but paradise quickly descends into hell if there isn’t a general understanding about what’s allowed & when.

You’re allowed four visits to feel the vibe of the club & it’s people out before you’re required (male, female, couples, everyone) to sit in on the orientations. I’ve talked about it previously and was highly impressed with how well it was done.

“Wow, that’s a lot of boring shit to have to sit through to be apart of what sounds like a raging fuck fest.“

It’s really not. And if you can’t sit for an hour and listen to someone basically give you the laws of the land you’ve been so lucky as to stumble on to, you really don’t deserve to be there & are likely a future threat just waiting to fuck up someone’s night.

When I think of people who shoulda paid more attention to orientation (most definitely attended & absorbed the information from both the singles & couples orientation) a couple interaction I’ve had come to mind.

The two examples I have from personal experience of how I have handled having someone not understand the word “no” in the past, one was correct & one I took a teensy bit too far.

One evening, at the very start of us attending the club I’d stumbled down to the orgy room with two lovely ladies. With only thoughts of diving face first into the wondrous space between their legs floating through my brain I neglected to clock the creepy guy leering from the corner of the room at first, but boy howdy – he clocked my distraction & focus on the ladies I was taking down there immediately.

I don’t know what it is about people thinking if they see someone fucking they can just…join in. Unannounced and uninvited. I’m gonna go out on a limb & say it’s probably that lack of understanding consent sprinkled with a pinch of not ever being taught basic respect for other people. This guy so happened to assume that since I was rolling around on the bed with two women, it was an invitation to do as he pleased.

He would quickly find out he was very wrong about that assumption.

Unbeknownst to my muff mesmerized ass, he stood behind me while I went to town on one lady, deafened by the grip of her luscious thighs to the world around me. Eventually, the little blood that remained in his brain must have flown to his feeble cock & he decided it was a great idea to stick his fingers in my pussy.

I don’t know about you guys, but if I’m with someone already, male or female and you interrupt me? Throw off my flow and rhythm? I’m gonna be pissed off. I whipped around ready to scream the face off of whoever had just shoved their sand-pappery digits into my snatch, to be met with the sight of a couple. The woman looked…lost & he looked like the dictionary definition of a sexual predator. Creepy, mask-like smile plastered on his face, body language that sent off alarm bells in my head, the whole nine. I immediately told him “no, not interested. Quit fucking with me.” & then glanced at the woman standing sheepishly beside him. Technically, in this part of the club at least, she was partly at fault. No single men can go down into the dungeon without a female escort. Coupled or not. I informed her to keep a better eye on the man she was with or take him out of the area. He’s come off his leash & you need to smack the fucker with a newspaper if that’s what gets him to knock this shit off.

I turned around, smiled plastered on my face once again, thinking that the annoying pussy grabbing piece of shit dealt with, I was ready to dive back in. Just as I got back into have that lovely FUPA plopped on top of my forehead, working my way towards tongue and finger-fucking this gorgeous woman’s soul out of her body, Dipshit McGee decides he didn’t hear me the first time & shoves his mummified feeling fingers right on back in my poor, unguarded cunt.

Alright, I was done here.

I stood up, ripping his fingers out as I did & walked straight outside to find someone who could help me report this fucker to the proper security folks. I found Han who quickly ushered me over to Mr. Bubbles (our security guy) who took me downstairs to point the guy out so he could have a talk with him about what’s acceptable behavior at our establishment.

Totally killed my boner for the evening, but the fact it was dealt with so seamlessly once the people in charge were made aware of the situation made me feel 10000% better about what had happened & I continued on partying, enjoying the rest of my night.

I heard tales later of how Dipshit McGee continued to push his luck with other people hanging out at the club that night. His woman & him were pretty quickly kicked out & banned so far as I know. If you’re still willing to fuck around & find out after Mr. Bubbles has to take time outta his night to tell you to stop being a fuckin’ asshole, you deserve whatever ya get.

The other incident that I handled not-so-well was more recently. I had been talking to my friend Bear outside that evening & was well into my 6 pack of beer. A stunningly beautiful woman sat down next to me and struck up a conversation. I was into it until she wouldn’t stop touching me & grabbing my face (without any sort of “hey can I do this/hey would you like to _____” before hand). Had that occurred, the reaction she would have gotten from me would have been much different and far more pleasant. Between her touchy tendencies & seeming not to know how to give a sincere compliment to save her life, I wasn’t interested & I told her as much.

She didn’t take it well. Or rather, she didn’t take it all? It was like every time I told her to stop she thought I was playing coy when it was obvious I was getting progressively more fed up. To the point where Leia, who had been sitting at the table with us saw what was coming next and quietly made her exit to do her Sexy Velociraptor rounds inside, away from the incoming way of bullshit I was riding.

I continued to blow her off, asked AND told her to stop several times & finally took up refuge in Bear’s chest, drunkenly begging HIM to talk sense into her since nothing I said had worked so far. She tried one more time to dip her greedy little hands between my legs or twist my head to face her so she could sloppily try to plant an unwanted kiss on me and I sorta…snapped.

I had done all the steps correctly (tell ’em no, tell ’em fuck off, etc) EXCEPT for getting up and grabbing Mr. Bubbles. I was hoping this lady would just get the idea of her own accord, but that ship had clearly sailed.

I stood up and grabbed my beer bottle. I calmly told her if she touched me again, whatever she touched me with was getting smacked with said bottle. She tried to whine to me about my choice to be done with her silly ass. I was far past done, this had cross the threshold of obnoxious behavior long ago.

As she continued trying to make excuses for her shit behavior, I couldn’t think of anything else to do in the moment, I was so frustrated and annoyed. At the top of my lungs, for god and every pervert in a 2 mile radius to hear, I screamed for her to leave me the fuck alone. I’m sure I looked like a complete fuckin’ crazy person to everyone outside.

Which of course was loud enough to alert the Mr. Bubbles inside. He came barreling out & scolded us both & told us to scatter as Bear told me nicely to put the damn bottle down & The Grabby Bitch scurried back inside.

That was the WRONG way for me to do that and I instantly knew I’d fucked up. Some people run away when shit gets too much, some freeze & panic. I tend to lean towards fight, especially if I feel like I’ve done nothing to receive whatever negative attention it is I’m dealing with.

I’m working on it.

Realizing my part in the fuck up, I stumbled back inside & found Mr. Bubbles. I apologized as sincerely as I could while having to scream it over the pumping music of the bar. Screaming is chill, but threatening folks with beer bottles is NOT kosher. I knew better and I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I made it his problem WAY too late for him to properly do his job. That much was definitely on my shoulders for not having handled properly.

I went back outside and again tried to keep on enjoying what was left of my night, hoping I wasn’t going to have to stand in front of board members & explain why I threatened to pop another club attendee upside the head with what would be considered a weapon.

The next evening at Game Night, a friend filled me in on how the rest Grabby Bitch’s evening went down since she continued to same shtick with a lady who is notorious for only rarely playing with ANYONE at the club & was simply ignored by her as she grooved to the music on the dance floor.

I guess I hurt her feeling pretty bad with not wanting her to grope/grab me and she walked back into the club to loudly protest “that none of these bitches wanna fuck.” And that “the bitch who runs the outside* is a prude.” Her next would-be conquest after me literally DANCED away from her anytime she tried her nonsense & she still felt like everyone else was the problem.

I don’t want to embarrass anyone** by telling you guys these stories. I want to use them to prove a point that if you go into this type of situation without an understanding of basic consent, but with the expectation that it’s just a giant orgy for the 6 – 10 hours the club is open where you can fuck anyone you please, you’re gonna fuck it up for yourself and possibly everyone you interact with that night. And if you don’t get the hint when it’s given, to correct course, you likely won’t continue to have access to fuck up other people’s good time. You and anyone you’re with is gonna get the boot & told to kick rocks.

In the same turn, no one worth fucking wants to fuck someone who can’t listen to basic instructions while everyone’s clothes are still on because how are you going to trust that person later on, in any sexual interaction, to listen if you choose to revoke consent/want to stop for whatever reason? You really can’t.

Don’t be that type of human, folks. It’s not worth the short term gratification you’re after to fuck up your long term ability to show up at such a cool place and have a great night.

^{*I don’t run a goddamn thing, I just like being slutty in the same places I can smoke at.}

^{**If I did, I’d be FAR more descriptive of the people in the situations I’m describing}.

Fun With Drugs // 1:34 – 1:48

Categories: Club D, feral musings, never fucks

I haven’t really gone over much about how things really operate at the slutty little social club we frequent yet after having first hand experience, have I? Let me try to sum it up before I sling a story with a warning attached to it at your face, on the off chance you ever get lucky enough to be invited to a similar (or the same) establishment.

I usually describe Club D to the curious and new as Slutty Cheers. Where nobody can remember your name, but everyone’s pretty friendly & welcoming for the most part. The people who show up every weekend, to every event they can, are usually the people who are taking care of the ones who forget their manners or imbibed more than they should have.

And both of those things have a tendency to happen when you unleash small amounts of the general public every weekend into the Dionysus-esque wonderland that is the club.

In the short time we’ve been there, most people seem to hold their own pretty well and get a ride home before they get past the point of no return, but every once in awhile you’ll get to enjoy the spectacle of a grown adult making an absolute ass out of themselves. And sometimes those walking shit shows even become regulars.

The owner has a saying that I like to utilize in my interactions with the club & life in general.

“Everyone’s got at least one good shit show in them.”

Being the unrepentant agent of unrest that I am, I tend to let people show me their shit show, exactly once, before I decide whether or not they’re worth having around long term. Most people I pull in are, but not everyone passes the test.

If you’re entire existence is a shit show & you find yourself wondering why the fuck the friends you’ve made are annoyed with you come Sunday morning, you’re not my people. You’re an asshole.

It’s a pretty well known human fact that alcohol and other substances make excellent social lubricant, but that can easily overfill & spill onto everyone else in a more-Slimer-less-Astroglide type of way if you’re not careful and don’t pace yourself. Most newcomers learn their lesson quickly, myself included, but sometimes not before making themselves out to be total dipshits who shouldn’t have the privilege of indulging if they can’t hold their head above the wave of tequila they poured themselves.

I’m not calling anyone out by name, in fact there are some regulars who shit shows are so beloved by all there are bingo cards dedicated to them (note: the key is to be entertaining), but I will leave you with the fateful tale of one Mr. Porky Pig.

It was a freezing winter night, not too long ago. It had been a pretty average if not calm vibe at the club. Nothing too out of the usual.

I was doing my now-normal late night prowl that consisted of wandering around the most active areas and seeing what fun there was to have. You’d be surprised once you make friends how easily you get pulled into interesting situations. On this particular night, I ended up being called into the dungeon after wander down to take a peek by two women who looked mildly panicked. Alarm bells started going off in my head as they described why they looked so startled.

You see, the dungeon is right across from the men’s bathroom. Which is kept separate from the women’s because, as I’m sure you guessed it from the vibe of this entry so far, dude’s can be creeps given even the smallest chance.

A guy with a t-shirt & no pants had come down, used the bathroom then popped out the door to start beating his meat to the sights and sounds of the dungeons and the two lovely ladies telling me their tale of woe we’re not pleased with him breaking one of the easiest to follow rules of the club: no unescorted men in the basement. As I’m sure anyone with enough emotional intelligence to fully comprehend consent can figure out, it’s a big no-go. It’s obviously gonna make some people uncomfortable if you’re just standing there with a blank, blackout stare on your face, cranking your freshly pissed out of yank.

Consent is key even if you’re not touching anyone else.

“Why not just have the door closed, Fonda?” you may be asking yourself.

Again, for the safety of everyone involved who wants to use the dungeon. Security often does walk-bys to make sure everything is consensual, it’s just easier for him to do his job if the door remains open. It’s also easier, like demonstrated in this situation, for people to call attention to unwanted behavior when it occurs.

In my opinion, you should be able to tell full grown adults not to do X, Y, Z in an effort to maintain the general security & good vibe around your establishment & expect them to listen and obey. It’s really not that hard, but I guess ole Porky Pig had missed that memo.

I stand dumbfounded & listen to what the ladies had to say & making sure to ask them where they’d seen him take off to after they scolded him for his gross display of incompetence.

“I don’t know, he went upstairs and walked right towards the playrooms.”

Okay, easy enough to find a pantless dude stumbling around up there. The club was almost completely cleared out by this point in the evening and I figured I could ask the playroom attendant if any of the doors were closed.

I barreled up the stairs with a vicious determination. I took a sharp turn towards the playrooms and instantly noticed all the doors were open. The beds were empty of anything that resembled their descriptions of Porky Pig.

The next most obvious place to search was the gloryhole. It didn’t look like anyone was standing behind the curtain, but I thought I may as well check. I peeked around the thick black curtains to see not a single soul. Thinking with some sort of tipsy, pervert logic, I thought to peer through the cockholes & saw the hairy figure of a very, very drunk Porky Pig slumped over on the floor like a fleshy, half-spilled bowl of oatmeal.

“For fuck sakes.” I whispered to myself as I took off, rounding the corner to enter the side he was sprawled out in. I popped my head in and saw a squat, bigger dude with trashed hair & no pants fitting the description of the guy the dungeon ladies had given me sitting with his arms splayed out in front of him, sorta conscious. He looked up enough for me to see any semblance of a human consciousness that existed when he got here fled hours ago.

I suddenly realized, even in my own hazy state, that I should not be the adult to handle this situation. Porky outweighed me by a good 100lbs & if he didn’t like me instructing him to get up & get himself together he could easily bowl my drunken ass over.

I gave my best plane stewardess smile to the toddler-minded adult staring up at me & slowly backed out of the curtains to the dance floor. I then proceeded to speed walk my happy ass back to the table to find a more stable, taller adult to take on the problem that was sitting, bare assed on the gloryhole floor.

I found Joe first who jumped into action with Han quickly following suit when they realized our main security guy had already taken off for the night. Pretty standard protocol, it was almost 4 am. Almost everyone except a small group of people & Mr. G were left. They let everyone who needed to know what was going on & headed towards the gloryhole where Mr. Pig sat & wobbled.

The next thing I saw was Porky Pig in all his pantless glory, running down the narrow walkway between the bar & the seating area, straight to the giant bean bag that sits in the room next to the bar. He plopped his ass down & in child-like defiance refused to be moved.

Unfortunately for this guy, Joe has a lot of repressed rage & a keen eye for when he can get away with exerting it. While Joe was picking him up by the arm and escorting him to the front so as not to disturb anyone else still left in the club to present the night’s shit show to the owner, I watched on with semi-worried curiosity. I’d seen people have sloppy nights, but this was a new level of fuckery I hadn’t witnessed before. I was riding a mixture of entertained & ready to claw the fuckers eyes out if he hit any of my people.

Between the effort it took for Joe to get him to the front of the building and away from the other patrons & Han offering to take over the burden of getting him somewhere for the evening safely (mostly for the sake of other people on the road) from there, it was clear this guy was gonna be embarrassed as fuck in the morning, if he recalled any of his antics at all.

We left shortly after, watching Han & Leia struggle to stop the idiot from climbing into his cock-extension of a truck as we drove out of the parking lot.

I was filled in later just how out of control the night got from there. Needless to say, he was rightfully ashamed of his actions the next day & he was lucky that the people at Club D aren’t heartless bastards.

Any other group of people I’ve ever fallen in with would have left him to his own devices after taking his keys, but Han & Leia made sure he had a warm, safe place to lay his shitty little head for the night. Even after he tried to fight them, not something I would advise in the case of either person.

This entry is here for two reasons. It’s an entertaining story & to serve as a warning. A horror story if you will about how easily it is to act like a dipshit when you find yourself with too much alcohol and freedom. And in the hopes that if you’re ever in a similar situation, with access to such a fun, adult establishment, you won’t fuck it up for yourself.

I know it’s hard to adjust to a scene like that when you’re coming in with only the half-assed lessons the real world has given you, but more alcohol than what you can normally drink or more drugs than you can usually handle is not going to make it a better time. For you or anyone else around.

Moderation, my pervs. Moderation is key.

[TRACK NOT FOUND]

Categories: 4th wall break, feral musings, mental vomit, not a slut story

Sometimes I wonder if people have noticed the lack of new updates on here. I wonder if anyone who noticed is disappointed by it. Dismayed by how the site has hung here, still technically live, but sitting stale & untouched for months. Like an abandoned house, filled with horny ghosts.

Please don’t think I live with the belief that I have an audience of clamoring fans eagerly awaiting my next blog post, I have no delusions about how many (few?) people read my little stories. However I can’t deny it garners a small viewership of sorts. That handful of people are the ones I think of when I wonder if anyone wonders where the fuck the author of this offense to literature went.

This update is for those people.

Hi. First and foremost, I suck. I haven’t totally stepped out of the confines of writer’s/slut’s block yet, but I’m getting there and writing this pitiful apology/update post is a shaky step in the right direction.

The last year has been enlightening to say the least. I’ve been trying to think of how I wanted to pull you all along with me for the ride. The topics I’ve embedded myself into are tricky to write about well without stepping on anyone’s dick along the way. It always has been, but add the club element into everything & it’s like a whole new world opens up. One that has very different rules, regulations, customs & traditions from how the rest of society does things, sluts or not.

You want to be honest, but you have to do it carefully because of how easily people on the outside looking in can and will twist your words to make their own point stick better.

While taking all that into consideration I made the decision many journalists & diarists have before me: the stories are just too damn good to go untold. So I’m diving back into it as much as I can.

Don’t be surprised if some older entries get re-writes* or if another flood of new drafts start to appear. The goal right now is to write every day even if I don’t make it public/publish it. Something is better than nothing & I’ve learned often times (at least with how my brain works) the thing you sit down to write, isn’t what ends up being your focus. But as long as you’re writing then you’re doing what you’re supposed to: furiously scratching the fuck out of that itch every creative person gets when they know they NEED to create. I’ve found it’s a similar feeling to craving a drug. That deep set physical longing to write or draw or make music or art. A similar deep set longing I think everyone who’s ever worn the title “addict” or proclaimed to be newly in love can also describe. Whether that’s for good or not isn’t something I could tell you yet, but it’s definitely been more productive than drug or human I’ve felt the same about.

So here’s to 2023, lets fuck this bitch right on up.

*feel free to keep a running log, nothing with be omitted/changed that’s already in there – I just think a lot of the older entries need cleaned up

All Eyes On Me // 2:54 – 3:30

Categories: feral musings

Hi! I’m Fonda, the creator of all the content you see on this fucked up little corner of the internet. The other person you’ll see mentioned regularly on this blog is J. We’re a couple of sluts. Or maybe I’m enough of a slut for both of us? We’ve been together for 18 years and legally bound apocalypse partners for almost 16.

I spent the better part of our relationship doing XXX webcam shows & making indie porn until recently. Now I just make dick jokes, take candid pics/vids on Snapchat & write about the slutty stuff we get up to.

Sometime in 2021 we collectively decided to outsource the responsibility for satisfying (most of) my insane sex drive to the general public & this is what my brain decided to with the onslaught of experiences we’ve had so far.

If it’s easier, consider my orifices a trio of investigative journalists & this site like a personal text & image based time capsule of the debauchery we encounter.

New updates go live every Monday, released in full publicly the following Monday. Not every entry is completely public to begin with (for free. hey, don’t judge me, capitalism is the problem here), but eventually most of the posts here will be available, to the public for free…eventually.