In another post that was deleted (and so will now be an ‘archival post’ when re-published) I talked about projects I had worked on in late-2022. One of those is the now-infamous (a fact!) Small Cumfurts series by yours truly.
You might be familiar with my more recent adult-oriented work titled Be Mindful Now (Ram Dass approves), otherwise known as 7 Ways To Be Mindful of the Now This Holiday Season like any properly SEO-ed Internet entry featuring scrotal furry earrings so beautiful they’d make Balzac blush in envy.
Well, that was published in December of 2025. My Small Cumfurts series was written in 2022, and subsequently published online in 2025, after there was some interest in what I was doing with myself in late-2022 for some inexplicable reason.
Though, I try anyway.
Clarifications
There’s a small tidbit that could unfortunately gum up the gears a bit that I need to clarify before it gets spun out of control by bad actors, and that is the dates. I’m exceptionally good at remembering the sequences of events as they occurred, sometimes down to specific things people said almost verbatim. However, I’m really bad at remembering specific years or dates off the top of my head.
In a previous post on a previous site incarnation I most likely wrote 2023 instead of 2022 when referring to these projects, as I was about to do now. Upon checking the Google document version histories, to determine when to backdate this post, I discovered that 2023 was the wrong year.
Normally, this wouldn’t be much of an issue, but given what’s happened, it surprisingly is. By asserting 2023 I was moving everything I had done forward a year, effectively condensing an already very dense timeline and potentially generating even more confusion (and distrust) when it didn’t line up with other people’s recollections.
But, here I address it directly: I previously described this as being in 2023 in a currently unavailable post, but, in reality, this didn’t happen in 2023. This particular episode was written, and subsequently saved to Google docs on August 27th, 2022. The events surrounding these episodes happened during 2022, such as Maus starting work on the character creator for the disastrous BOSSFIGHT: Song of Sparklemuffin.
Getting back on track, in that original post, I only released synopses covering the episodes (4 in total… so far) and linked to uneditable Google documents for the rest. Well, today, that changes. Back by popular demand, here is Small Cumfurts: Episode 1 – The Otter Pops.
My Creative Process
On a side note, because I flatter myself in thinking people might be interested in my creative process, I’d like to detail how these were written, and how quickly. What I do is think of a story, or, well, something like that, and then, I write it.
This first episode was kicked off by a short random-ass pseudo-dream I had while slipping in and out of consciousness in my “refurbished” budget La-Z-Boy knockoff from Big Lots one morning, as I do while drinking coffee after getting out of bed.
The rest were momentum from the first.
So, what I’d do is get dressed, go down to Starbucks on the corner (which isn’t there anymore), and sit and write. For a long time before the pandemic, I would actually go to that Starbucks and sit there almost all day either working on my old laptop (if you knew my Instagram, now gone, you’ve seen it), or reading a large technical book or manga.
This time, I went and sat with a college-ruled spiral notebook from Walgreens, because, you only get the fancy stuff for the fancy shit, a couple of my favorite pens (I’ll have to look up the brand), and wrote by hand.
Almost all day!
Each one of these episodes was produced in one sitting, in one day, writing by hand with a pen, pretty much how they are. There were small changes (for example, in Episode 4, the *ka-dun-dun* sound effect was edited in after I realized I had said the TV was on), but for the other 99% it was all first, and final, draft.
It’s nothing new really, I wrote On Being Different in two prolonged sessions each a couple days long. The first version was okay, but it needed some extra kick, so the second version was produced I think in about two days. Some say you can tell, others are amazed, and that’s my life. Later, I published the entire thing in one long Twitter thread (now deleted as well) because I’m insane.
That’s how I roll.
The Final Product
This isn’t the final product of Small Cumfurts.
This was never meant to be published in the first place, but, people were just so very interested in what I was doing with myself in late-2022 for some reason that it was getting weird. Out-of-paw, you could say. So I finally, and reluctantly, showed the streamer-brained budding enquirers that things exist even if they aren’t posted to the Internet.
Maus, my husband, was disappointed they were put out there before they were fully made, but, it is what it is. I don’t plan on publishing any more episodes (there are 4 in total so far, all being posted), though I plan to write them, until they can be made as they were intended: as computer games.
The term “game,” might be stretching it a bit, heh, but, yeah. The idea was to create a pixelated kinetic novel-like interface, but, with basic animations and frames beyond the usual VN format so that it would resemble something more of a comic book. Each screen was its own panel alone, and in it things could move. And boy, do they move! There isn’t anything meta where you go from panel to panel, because it doesn’t actually have to be a comic book.
Whatever it is, it could have its own pages, if you get my drift, since there are no choices. Voice acting has been considered, but, I’m thinking not.
So, in essence, a retro-style microcomputer based Western-oriented multimedia experience that sits somewhere between a comic book and a low-budget TV show (on the very high end). Or, if you’re historically savvy, a Flash animation (I do know ActionScript, because, of course I do).
There are reasons for the entire presentation, including the authentic pixelated style and the lack of voice recordings (but not music), but I’ve crossed the threshold of what this post is about if I don’t put to official print (outside of Google’s demesne) the first episode.
Some More Personal Clarifications
The reason the above section entitled Clarifications is unfortunately necessary is due to rumors that my entire mental health hinged on this project, or, as more likely intended, I acted like my entire mental health hinged on this project. That, frankly, sounds more like salacious speculations to garner, or deflect, attention more than anything substantial.
I mean, I was also working on a modular retro-computer emulator, starting with the TRS-80 Color Computer line, at the same time, and porting Luke Hutchison’s Pika Parser (Pika parsing: reformulating packrat parsing as a dynamic programming algorithm solves the left recursion and error recovery problems) to both PHP and GDScript (of the Godot engine) as well. Both parser ports were completed with enhancements (to be re-published) and the emulator was pushing out graphics before I abandoned it.
I want to take a small second to remind people of something that every professional communicator with an ounce of journalistic integrity already knows: someone telling you how something is to them, on a very personal level, and that’s how you understand the situation to be, doesn’t absolve you of responsibility when you broadcast it to others as fact.
It also doesn’t automatically make it appropriate to use it as an explanation allegedly grounded in facts for something serious when there’s no valid reason anyone needs to know about it.
This is because 1) you don’t know it for a fact and it needs verifying, and, 2) especially if it’s highly personal and not shared with everyone, there’s a high bar that everyone should employ to whether this information, which isn’t yours to tell as fact, should even be broadcast.
This is very important, because, when a professional communicator acts in total disregard of these two things there isn’t a fix it button. It can’t be ‘fixed’ retroactively unless the injured party agrees to forgive and move on.
Once someone decides to make something irrelevant public, and, adding injury to insult, it’s factually incorrect, they’ve made themselves, and others directly supporting their actions, vulnerable to further information being published in a justified defense.
Because people (theoretically) have freedom of speech, at least, in the United States where I live, it is of the utmost paramount to consider these matters the first time around, not in an ineffectual apology later, if one appears at all.
Arguing about what’s “allowed” after what shouldn’t have been “allowed” is out there is pointless if the individual that believes they’ve been wronged doesn’t care about the professional communicator’s, or their supporter’s, non-legal moral opinions.
And it’s even more so if those beliefs are not enforceable by law. If they believe the professional, and their supporters after the fact, injured them in their decision to broadcast, what rational motivation would they ever have to care about the offender’s moral opinions?
This is not an aggressive offense. This is just a fact of how things happen. Like I said, professional communicators should know this, and so, I think that people reading this should be aware of it too.
At no point did Maus, or anyone physically present in my life who would know, truly believe I was a danger to myself or guilt-tripping anyone (because, I don’t do that). It’s very easy for people to think they really know people’s situations in grave detail these days after only reading about it from a distance, through the story a participant tells them in text, or the stories told later.
A cult following has sprung up around Marvin Heemeyer, the man who bulldozed down parts of my town one day, in places as far away as Russia, where one woman insists she knows everything about Granby, including all its people, history, attitudes, and practices, on an individual level, because she has read everything about it (including Patrick Brower’s book, who is also a friend of my mother’s) and has watched every YouTube video on it.
Probably twice.
It does not matter to her if the literal son of one of the men in the photograph of a famous newspaper clipping, often circulated amongst members of these groups, says otherwise, speaking from their personal experience living there from birth.
Marina will insist she really knows whilst turning once again to gaze upon the shrine of portraits against her back wall.
ED February 22 2026: It would really, really, really help if people didn’t assume everything I write is irrational hyperbole:
What’s more accurate is that I was frustrated and felt unseen or looked over by others, maybe even taken for granted a bit, and I just wanted support of some kind that I felt like I wasn’t getting, so I clearly communicated my needs like adults are supposed to do, or so I’ve been told.
Here’s Small Cumfurts: Episode 1 – The Otter Pops
Each number represents a a screen “refresh” of some kind, whether the whole thing or a text box.
1 Satyrotica Presents
A Lewdonarrative Game
(Artificial Dream Productions)
Copyright © 2023 Original Pursuits LLC
2 Small Cumfurts
Written And Programmed By
Asher Wolfstein
3 Graphics By
That Smug Cat
Music By
Asher Wolfstein
That Smug Cat
4 Episode 1 - "The Otter Pops"
5 It was a day like any other.
6 Emphasis on "was."
7 That is until the plumber ejaculated into a...
8 But I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?
9 Normally I wouldn't be telling this kind of story, but it's just so…
10 I had to tell someone.
11 On an average day, you'd find me quietly holed up somewhere with my nose in a book, unnoticed and unremarkable—an average little black cat with an average little cat life.
A lot of folks still put stock in that old superstition, even if it's subconscious, and because of that, I generally find myself alone.
12 I like it that way.
13 Today, however, was not quite average, and instead of cracking an old one open at the old town coffee shop, I found myself needing the expertise of a local tradesman.
14 The sink broke. I needed a plumber.
15 Water was backing up on the other side, and the disposal was stinking up the cupboard below with a stench you can't imagine.
16 Being a proper intellectual yuppie, I had no idea what to do.
17 A quick call to the apartment management and a certified repair man was on his way.
18 People like to wax poetic about circumstance as if it's this magical will when really, it's just coincidence. My mother read a book about some "secret" and, with good intentions, told me I needed to "ask the universe" for a date. Apparently, if I wish just the right way and hard enough, fate will bring me what I desire.
19 Of course, the real secret used to lie where she never looked. The back bottom of my sock drawer held a dildo and a dirty magazine containing, you've already guessed it, a lot of cock and a lot of tail.
20 That's right; I'm gay.
21 But that's not the takeaway here. The point I'm making is that it'd be nice to wish our lives into bliss, but I'm a rationalist. Life just doesn't work like that.
22 The truth is we're all swimming in a cosmic flux, held together by a membrane called society, where everything is basically random, even perhaps our own thoughts. Being the constant killjoy skeptic, I poke holes in Kant's categorical imperatives and the concept of free will for fun.
23 The idea that there's some mystical loving force out there ready to fulfill my deepest desires?
24 Preposterous! Give me a break.
25 At least, that's what I thought.
26 Until today.
27 There was a knock on the door. I guess it's showtime!
28 I looked out the peephole to see...
29 ... a gorgeous otter looking back at me! I must admit, my heart did that ta-dump thing that I thought only happened in Boy's Love manga.
30 I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and adjusted my glasses. Finally, adequately reserved, I opened the door.
31 Elliot: Hi. I'm, uh, here to look at your sink?
32 Simon: Oh. Yeah, great, come on in. I'm Simon.
33 Elliot: I'm Elliot; nice to meet you.
34 Simon: Well, nice to meet you too!
35 I looked away and grimaced. Oh god, what a dork!
36 Simon: Let me show you the sink.
37 Look at this guy—tight t-shirt, meaty biceps, cute smile, and of course, a magnificent ass. I could've just died looking at him.
38 Elliot: Oh, yeah, thanks, I see.
39 He put down his red metal toolbox and got on his knees. Oh, if only...
40 *Ahem* Geez, what's happening to me? Has it really been that long?
41 I took a seat behind him at my small dining table and started counting on my fingers. Had it been three months? Or... six months? Wow, maybe it HAD been that long.
42 I glanced back at the workman, Elliot, who had his tail propped straight upward. His ass was just the perfect shape. I followed his tail upward with my gaze until I saw that morning's coffee.
43 I cleared my throat.
44 Simon: Say, Elliot, it's still early. Would you like a cup of coffee or something?
45 Anything I could do for more interaction, even if his butt cheeks were heaven. He was peering at the disposal but backed himself out, crouching. He looked up at me.
46 Elliot: Oh, sure! That would be great!
47 He smiled.
48 He SMILED!
49 Then he stood up while I mobilized to get that cup.
50 Elliot: Hey, I notice you have a water filter down there. I hadn't seen one of those before in this building. You get that custom installed?
51 I closed the cupboard door for the mugs. I purposefully selected the best gaydar mug I could think of: my limited edition Golden Gal's mug from the 80s. That should get me something.
52 Simon: Yeah, actually. I had the plumber before you install it, now that I think about it. You must be the new guy.
53 I filled the mug from the pot, listening carefully.
54 Elliot: Yep, I'm actually new all over. New job, new town, just moved here.
55 Simon: Here.
56 I handed him the mug, hoping he'd notice it. He took it gently but then set it on the counter.
57 Elliot: How do you like your filter? Has it been working all right?
58 I snapped out of my clandestine plan for a second.
59 Simon: What?
60 Elliot: Your water filter. Any problems?
61 Simon: Oh! Oh, no, it's been great. I got it 'cause the chlorine and fluoride in the city water allegedly wreaks havoc with your gut bacteria, you know, the microbiome. It thins the mucus lining of the upper gastrointestinal tract, which leads to endotoxemia...
62 I could see his eyes begin to glaze.
63 Stupid Simon, stupid! Sexy times and bookish times do not mix!
64 Elliot: Oh! That's... interesting... I was actually thinking of getting one for the taste, but... that's good to know!
65 He smiled again, then picked up his mug and took a sip.
66 Elliot: I should probably get back to it...
67 Simon: Oh, of course!
68 The beautiful otter crouched back down and placed his mug next to his toolbox. He grabbed a couple of work gloves from his utility belt but then let one fall to the wayside.
69 He put the other one on and grabbed a wrench from the toolbox.
70 With one last friendly smile, he ducked back into the cupboard under the sink.
71 Elliot: Whew, man, does it stink in here!
72 Not one word about the mug. Plans...
73 Failed.
74 I sat back down in my seat, resigning myself. Why would I think I could ever get a date with a guy like this? I stared at his jeans-covered ass longingly once more.
75 Have you ever heard of resonance?
76 It's like when you hold keys down on a piano, so the strings aren't hampered, and then you play related keys really loud. If you do it right, the chord you're pressing down will start to ethereally resound without you having played it.
77 That's resonance. Like resonates with like, and if you think about it, a lot of things seem to work out like that. Maybe objects, places, and people have frequencies or even thoughts. And sometimes, one frequency causes another to resound.
78 Listen to me; I sound like my whack Mom.
79 But even to this day, I think about that sometimes because it's the only way I can even begin to explain what happened next.
80 I was sitting there, racking my little black cat rationalist brain for some appropriate topic that might light up my gaydar, when something caught my eye.
81 Some movement.
82 I gazed intently at the scene before me, head resting on my hand. Something suddenly seemed out of place, but I saw nothing unusual. It was a strange feeling that had successfully distracted me from my more carnal interests.
83 But not for long.
84 My eyes darted to the work glove lying on its back behind and to the right of Elliot's butt. Had it... just moved?
85 I stared absurdly at that glove. What was I doing? What was it I thought was gonna happen?
86 Suddenly, the index finger of that singular, detached, leather and canvas-bound work glove curled...
87 ON ITS OWN!
88 I slowly sat upright; my face contorted in total disbelief as I watched the lowly glove undulate slightly.
89 It was as if somebody was putting it on, and yet, there was no such paw. It filled with a ghostly volume and then made a fist. I was speechless.
90 Admittedly, it was a somewhat glorious sight. A work glove, a symbol of working-class masculinity and strength, something with a lurid appeal, now with a mind of its own.
91 In my midnight hours, I'd often imagined some gloved paw covering my maw from behind as I came hands-free from a good pounding... but it was always attached to somebody!
92 I heard a slight clink and, holding my breath in my heightened state, looked left. There, a slightly dirtier glove with a few holes was emerging from within the glove box. Again, it was full but disembodied. It rose straight into the air and remained suspended.
93 Eyes wide, I suddenly caught my breath...
94 Simon: Ell...
95 Elliot: Hey,
96 The otter spoke without looking back.
97 Elliot: Could you hand me that smaller wrench at the top of the toolbox?
98 He extended his paw backward.
99 Before I even had a chance to move, the floating glove to the left dipped down and deftly grasped the wrench. It lifted it in and placed it in Elliot's paw.
100 Elliot: Thanks!
101 It's NOT my imagination! THIS. IS. HAPPENING.
102 That's when I heard the low, slow, zipping sound. At first, I couldn't discern what it was, although I was also still in shock. My paw began to move subconsciously over my burgeoning erection in my pants.
103 Then the zipping sound stopped, and I realized what it was...
104 A full-on erect otter member and balls flopped out of the front of Elliot's jeans. Right there. In the middle of what he was doing! But I know he couldn't have done it...
105 Then I realized... does it matter?
106 At this point, suffice to say, my eyes were glued to Elliot's healthy, big, throbbing cock, now dangling in between his legs.
107 The two gloves, having grasped each other, now separated and began to move towards the phallic spectacle.
108 As I stared slack-jawed, the slightly dirtier used glove came down from above and gently put its fingers on the otter's sac, lifting upward to elevate his balls. This revealed the entire length of his member.
109 The other glove placed its thumb on Elliot's frenulum and started massaging it, slowly wrapping its fingers around its magnificent girth.
110 Suddenly, Elliot slid back a bit and began to poke his head, his actual head, out.
111 I quickly grabbed the nearest thing by pure instinct and placed it in front of my now totally apparent erection. I'm not really sure why, considering everything else...
112 Elliot: Hey, after some inspection...
113 The second glove started to slowly stroke that outstanding appendage. I must've looked scared shitless.
114 Elliot: It looks like I'm going to have to take this entire disposal out and replace it with a new one, okay?
115 What?!
Nothing about his pants, his gloves... his cock!?
116 I stammered,
Simon: Y... y... ye... yes, that's fi-ne!
117 I looked down at my own erection when the zipper of my own pants began to descend...
Are you kidding me? Does he have no idea? My cock's coming out? What does the universe have in mind?!
118 I quickly glanced up as the otter once again ferreted himself under the sink. I became self-conscious of the sound my zipper was making, so I cleared my throat without thinking.
119 Simon: The water filter isn't getting in the way, is it?
120 By now, my zipper had descended completely, and I could feel my underwear moving around in its quest to pull its front apart. How could Elliot not have noticed that?
121 Elliot: Oh no, it's fine. There's more space down here than it looks.
122 *Sproing*
My little cat cock was free and sprang proudly against the cookbook I was holding in front of it. Oh god, the universe, it, they, whatever the hell was going on...
... it didn't mean to...
123 My eyes were absolutely fixed on the erotic dream in front of me; I saw the stroking glove begin to stroke more aggressively. Elliot's tail started to bob just slightly at the tugging and rubbing.
Yet Elliot didn't make a peep.
124 As soon as the glove began stroking with renewed vigor, I felt something on my cock.
125 I looked down in absolute wonder as I witnessed my own foreskin sliding up and down, up and down as if that glove was also stroking my own member. It felt incredible, as if a warm, loving otter paw was going up and down, up...
... and down.
126 I continued to watch what could only be described as the weirdest porno unfold before me.
127 Was it me, or was Elliot slightly bucking his hips into the glove?
128 I could feel the burning, yearning sensation build inside me. My loins were aflame with desire. We were into it now, and my tongue wagged out, my eyes rolling dangerously up.
129 The glove masturbating Elliot got even faster, and I could tell we were both so close...
So close...
130 Suddenly, the coffee mug that had been innocuously sitting beside the toolbox, minding its own fucking business, turned. It reoriented itself and then slid in between the otter's legs, positioning itself under his engorged member.
131 At this development, Elliot and I both flexed our glutes as cum began spurting generously out of both our cocks at the same time; his splorted straight into the coffee while mine sprayed all over the back of the cookbook.
132 He didn't even make a sound. Didn't even flinch.
133 He was... an orgasm ninja.
134 I watched, spent and dreamy, as he fully disconnected the garbage disposal. Quietly, stealthily, the gloves zipped his shrinking member back into his pants and then dropped to the ground lifeless.
135 Likewise, my cock, now satisfied, retreated back into the recesses of my black cargo pants, which promptly zipped themselves up.
136 The coffee mug slid itself away out of danger unnoticed. Elliot crawled out of the sink cupboard and put his two wrenches back into the toolbox, closing it.
137 Crouching, he smiled up at me,
138 Elliot: Well, I think that about covers it.
139 He grabbed the disposal and lifted it onto the counter.
140 Elliot: I guess I'll be back next week with a new disposal. In the meantime, only use the other side of the sink.
141 He knelt down and picked up the coffee mug. I just about shit myself as he took a sip. He held it up for a second.
142 Elliot: This is an interesting mug. You a big fan?
143 He noticed the mug!
Simon: Y... yes. Yes, I am!
I was so overwhelmed by, well, everything I forgot my plan. I didn't even ask him.
144 The buff, sexy otter hoisted the disposal into his left arm and picked up his toolbox.
145 I stood up and escorted him to the door, opening it.
146 He turned to me and winked,
Elliot: I'll be seeing ya 'round.
147 And then smiled as I closed the door.
148 What.
The.
Fuck!
149 Literally! Did he know? What just happened? Am I dreaming? This is like that one time when I was a teenager, but that was a dream... wasn't it?
150 As I stepped back into the kitchen, I continued to prostrate my psyche against the nature of veracity. I picked up the Golden Gal’s mug and looked down into the brown liquid.
151 It's always been enough for me to just resign myself to not knowing.
Some people believe in god because they can't stand to have to face the unknown. They believe in the "secret," ghosts, ESP, the will of the universe, aliens, and conspiracies because having to admit to yourself that you have no idea is just too scary.
But me?
152 I've worn "I don't know" as a badge of honor. I have no faith because I don't need it. I can face the unknown.
153 But up until now, the unknown never stared back. Things I didn't know didn't really exist, no harm. I guess then that I said, "I don't know," but I really meant I did know.
I knew god wasn't real, magic wasn't real, miracles didn't happen, and that the "secret" was a crock...
154 Or were they?
Is it possible to resonate so strongly that you cause other things to come alive?
155 I don't know.
156 But I do know that I saw what I saw and that, judging by my cookbook, it really did happen.
157 I took a sip and thought to myself, smiling,
158 Small Comfort.
159 The End