My name is Trixie (aka TastyTrixie). The Wandering WebWhore is my personal blog. I'm a 30-something indie pornographer whose journal covers a variety of topics: mundane daily life, work-related reflection, sex stuff, current events, and more.
I must've had my head up my ass when I worried that reserving a cabin for three nights was too LONG for a porn-shooting trip without running water or electricity or phones or internet of any kind. More like NOT LONG ENOUGH.
Being in the woods on the Olympic Peninsula, the proper WET woods southwest of us (unlike what we have here in the dry rainshadow), always feels like heaven to me. I'm not exaggerating: HEAVEN. Like what it would/should look and feel like if there were to be that kind of a fantasy afterlife (except I wouldn't have to be scared of having my scalp ripped off by a cougar in heaven, but I digress).
Anyway, it was great. FANTASTIC, the level of peace and tranquility I felt there. The lack of pressure and the way everything worked out just right. The way we had so much beautiful SPACE to sprawl out and shoot in with very little chance of intrusion. The way the weather couldn't have been more perfect. The way we walked for miles.
And when we got home? I pretty much instantly fell apart into a nervous wreck.
It's not that I think running off and living a "simple" life is the Answer to All My Problems or something I want on a daily basis (I don't), but experiencing it for a few days did highlight some of the things that I desperately need to fix in real life (like not having so MANY options and obligations every second of every day).
It's a small fix, but we're going to get rid of DirecTV completely and of course just keep plugging away on the usual stuff with a better reminder of what we could have if we got ahead, just a little bit: the freedom to fall behind and drop out more often . . . AND make better porn because of it. It's amazing how doing so much of my job every fucking day gets in the way of DOING MY JOB RIGHT.
Also, I have serious problems being distracted by every day life and PEOPLE and the noises they make and our computers and all of our shit, though, so coming home was like putting my head in a blender after all of that peace and quiet and fresh air. I know it sucks for voyeurs who want to watch a blissed-out horny woman rolling around in ecstasy or at least looking fresh and cute and bisected by cleavage but instead get me, frowning and muttering under my breath about how I'm going to shoot myself in the head if trivial problems and distractions interrupt my flow just one more fucking time. I am so sorry that has been the story of my lifecams for far too long.
Anyway, I would manually scratch all the skin off my left arm using the fingernails of my right if it would mean I could spend a third of my life in a cabin in the woods, peeing outside and eating pickled sausage on the back porch. Unfortunately I'll have to go about things the hard way: plodding forward, tiny steps at a time.
FYI: I'll try to post more about the magic of our little cabin experience. Also, I'm posting the rest of these pictures of me by the river on Monday for members. Delia is posting a set as I type this: see SAMPLE HERE - it is SO FUCKING AWESOME to be able to get almost any angle you want from whatever distance you want unconstrained by four walls.
*One of the webcam networks disconnected our access, but don't worry, you can still get in a couple of different ways to see Delia's show tonight. I will alter the page to tell members how. There are, however, a number of good reasons why my approach to dealing with that problem further are complicated. Not for you to worry about, even though blogging about it would make an interesting read -- I'll have to continue to bite my tongue for a few months or years longer.
*Ever since Twitter got attacked early yesterday, I haven't been able to tweet as TastyTrixie or SpyOnUs. Not via text/my phone, not on our main cable connection, and not on our DSL connection. For some reason, Delia's twitter account is working just fine, though. I *am* able to post tweets through blip.fm, though. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but it's driving me insane. I have a few more tricks up my sleeve to try to get it working, but honestly - there's a limit to how much time I can spend dealing with one fucking tribulation at a time.
*When I added more spycams, it broke some of them. The microphone on the NightVision cam (formerly known as "ballroom") is no longer reliably working, and my alternate method of connection to that cam using a different microphone also mysteriously died even after I tried reinstalling the software and other things. I guess the only solution at this point is to buy another microphone. In the meantime, you can still hear bedroom audio (though probably not as well) on the "MoreBed" and "BedroomDesk" cam. When they're not crapped out. Which they tend to be at inopportune times.
Anyway, little problems like that drive me batshit. I hate to admit how easily frustrated I get with those little unanticipated pinches of obstacality(?), but I do, especially when I'm in the middle of feeling bogged down and incompetent with larger projects (namely redesigning, like, all of our sites and most importantly helping get DeliaTS.com off the ground; I feel like it should be easy but all these design projects are just sucking out my life force). But of course as soon as I get through them, maybe we'll be a few steps closer to being able to HIRE people to do the parts of design we can't/don't want to do. At least, I pray to motherfucking god that will be the case.
I plan on enjoying a lovely and orgasmic show tonight, though, and I hope to make a new sexy show music mix to inspire me. See you there?
I went on a little field trip by myself today, and happened across this fucktastic hillbilly head shop:
You can get almost anything there: firewood, dildos, giant bongs, blow-up sex dolls, gay wanker mags (I bought one as a thanks for letting me take these pics . . . and because I really enjoy gay wanker mags), swords, patriotic novelties, and old issues of Playboy that should be in protective sleeves, but instead are gathering dust in layers of MEASURABLE thickness (I *so* wanted to rescue the one with Dolly Parton on the cover).
Even though the place stank of mildew and old carpeting stained with Sheltie poop and pee, I seriously fucking loved it there especially when I heard, then spotted, the fucking police scanner:
I just have a thing for police scanners. Don't know why I don't have one. Anyway, there's also a stuffed parrot of porn watching out for things along with a dude who worked there (he was kind of cute but I thought it would be asking a bit much to take his picture and post it here):
There was also a thin, grizzled hang-around guy there who got a little boisterous when I popped in. A couple good-looking, fresh-smelling locals also popped in to get some porn so the place is obviously doing business since I wasn't there very long. After I left, the hang-around guy wearing the straw cowboy hat followed me back out to my car to say, "boy! You SURE are cute!" then captioned himself by mumbling with concentration, "little hat trick for ya . . ." as he tossed it into the air and juggled it around with a flourish as a special little show for me. Much appreciated, hang-around dude.
Here I am on the security camera, standing basically two inches from the counter. Obviously surveillance is a fetish at this place, which I *totally* understand (and is only one of 100 reasons why I didn't visit the restroom there):
All the way home I scripted a movie in my head to shoot there and wished we had money to pay to shoot it (including paying not only to rent the place, but to have it professionally cleaned inside without losing ALL of the personality/flavor). Actually, whenever we make the trip to this particular loggerific town I always wind up using the time on the road to script porno movies. The last one was so funny I kept laughing out loud and confirming for Delia that her girlfriend is a crazy person. She didn't go with me today, though, so I got to be crazy all by myself and go places she would rather avoid like the hillbilly head/sex shop and this geeky place.
Here are a couple more shots of the joint to give you a better idea of the scope of their patriotism and firewood-selling enterprise:
Instead of having the wood bundles stacked in one area, they've created a car maze & parking-lot border out of individual bundles arranged in lines, with each bundle labeled with a price and the name of the tree it came from (not name like "Tom" or "Cindy", but Red Cedar, Douglas Fir, etc.):
I just enjoy seeing people making a modest and dirty living combining everything they love. Like, FUCK you! I'm going to let my dog come to work with me and rub it's dirty ass all over the carpet while I get high in the back room and show off my ninja sword to my buddies!! Are you sure you don't need a cord of wood to go with that? LET'S SPRAY PAINT THE SINGLE-WIDE RED, WHITE AND BLUE!!! GodDAMN I love this country!!
I wanted to post this update tonight, but I got carried away doing extras so here's a little preview for members (and non-members) to get an idea of the kind of video I'm posting (just for members) tomorrow:
It starts out with some tugging and dick-sucking, then progresses to reverse cowgirl with a cumshot in panties (after some closeups of it going INSIDE me) which is one of my (and my fans') favorites:
I kept manipulating my panties with the cock against my ass even after the cumshot. This little animation doesn't quite do it justice, but since it's more than enough for some people to get off looking at, I'll leave it in simple mode and you have to join to download the actual video (and others like it):
You've probably already heard how hot it's been here in the Pacific Northwest this week; I am on a pretty good roll with exercising semi-regularly, but it's so hot that I have to make sure to do it early or later after it cools down. Tonight it wound up being later (after an unexpected and annoying troubleshooting session with our most important spycam with nightvision & audio aimed at our bed) which means by the time I did that and showered it was really too late for me to put on makeup and record a vlog for members. Lately I've been trying to at least LOOK semi-sexy in the video blogs, so I'll save that for tomorrow when I hope the makeup efforts will do double-duty for some shoots. Then again, my period will probably come and I might have cramps so who knows . . . valiant efforts will be made, but they might be swatted down by the heavy hand of high humidity.
Anyway, back to MY butt . . . I love that outfit but I'm going to have to cull a lot of photos from the set; there are things I love about being chubby, and other things that make doing this work a lot tougher when I am. Sadly, when I feel unhappy with seeing my double chins and belly rolls in pictures, it only makes me want to get into bed with a trough of mashed potatoes and gravy and SHOVEL IT IN AS FAST AS I CAN. With a fucking tub of greasy stuffing with giblets and just the fatty skin from the turkey.
But yeah. The good pics are better because of the weight. But there are just more BAD pics, is the problem. So this might be a smaller set than usual.
Yesterday I catalogued our inventory of sex toys in a spreadsheet to try to keep track of which ones we have (and haven't) shot with.
This is the Tantus Sport which I got from their closeout section in a clearance color; I've gotten a lot of spectacular (and low-priced silicone toys) from them. In fact, my favorites are ones they don't make anymore.
We have over fifty sex toys, which is pretty awesome. Really a dream come true, I have to say. There have been others over the years we've thrown away because they were cheap/dangerous jelly or broke/got used-to-death.
Crazily, we have barely shot photos or videos with more than a handful of them. We use a lot of them during our live webcam shows so it seems like we get/have gotten a lot of use from them, but there aren't actually a ton of pics or masturbation-with-toys videos on our sites. Pretty dumb, eh? Hence the spreadsheet.
The Tantus Goddess vibrating dildo (a gift from FurryGirl's Sensual Vegan):
Lately I've been CRAVING new toys in categories we don't have. Example: we don't have any big "realistic" toys in our collection which seems like a SERIOUS oversight, especially considering how few of my close webwhore colleagues seem into those types of things and how TOTALLY into them I am (so it seems like a good niche for me to "fill", hardy har har). Sure, I like the way our "non-representational" dildos FEEL, but I fucking love seeing chicks spreading themselves out with big fat fake pricks and I love the way realistic "dongs" look especially when there are good contrasting colors between the head and the shaft (hello, Black Thunder). I totally want more DONGS.
I can't allow myself to purchase any more sex toys, though, until we've shot more with the ones we already have. Even though I totally want a pussy pump, more stainless steel, DEFINITELY more artistic stuff like carved wooden dildos, art glass, & unique molded silicone insertables. AND BIG DIRTY DICK-SHAPED DILDOS, like I already mentioned. Just can't let myself get them. I'm not sure why we never got on the bus that has sex toy manufacturers constantly sending us unsolicited samples, but that's just never happened to us, I'm sad to say.
I did get a couple of toys to review from the nice folks at Pleasure Me Now, but I stalled out after the glass dildo when I couldn't bring myself to properly review the smart balls I was super excited about trying but was then unsuccessful at enjoying. Not that they asked me to only write positive reviews -- they didn't -- but I felt like I hadn't given those GIGANTIC FUCKING BALLS a fair shake and kept procrastinating on setting aside time to really give them a good trial. Sometimes my anal retentiveness is an obstacle to getting freebies.
One of the problems with our sex toy collection (and pretty much everything we buy to wear or use in photo shoots) is the constant struggle to decide between buying A LOT of cheap and semi-generic things on our limited budget or buying A FEW unique and really marvelous things . . . and not being able to buy anything else for months. Usually I wind up buying more for less rather than investing a bunch of money in a very-few expensive and spectacular items. We buy most of our clothes second-hand or on sale and same goes for the toys, so I rarely spend more than $40 on a single toy. Which is why I have zero "realistic" dildos, since all the good ones are in the $60-$90 range (and are made of questionable, possibly-hazardous and hard-to-clean materials making the investment even LESS sound since Delia and I might not be able to share them or get very many miles out of them or they'll stain if we get lipstick on them, etc.). It doesn't really make sense, since even with these frugal choices designed to give us (and our members) more variety I'm not even using all of the stuff AND I *still* use certain things OVER and OVER again (like my Hitachi Magic Wand).
It's the whole dilemma of "do I buy five crappy Frederick's of Hollywood corsets or one REAL corset?" And then the ultimate challenge of making use of everything, which is where I actually fall down on the job(s). But who wouldn't after exhausting all those brain cells on making these tough shopping decisions? Most members don't give a fuck anyway as long as you're regularly posting something new and hot -- the mileage you can get on one slimline vibe, a little hard work and a cheap pair of pantyhose is pretty remarkable, but in terms of standing out in a crowd with your promo materials and really presenting something SPECIAL that continues to be personally exciting sometimes you want things that are fancy, different, stylish, etc. Well, almost all the time I want those things. And never quite succeed in getting them. Which leaves me with something average which is tiresome.
Even more tiresome? All of this is leading into yet another blog entry about shopping for sexy stuff which I'll try to post soon but I had no idea I was going to spend an hour writing THIS one.
The Fourth of July isn't my absolute favorite holiday, but I do enjoy it a lot -- especially small town fireworks displays like ours. We also bought a small tabletop propane grill today to celebrate the American way with cheeseburgers and replace our rusted out charcoal grill.
In keeping with a celebration of our great capitalist country:
I hate to break it to those of you who read my blog through a feed reader, but you'll have to click through now and actually VISIT my blog to read my posts from start to finish (if you want to). I actually set my feed settings years ago BEFORE I actually started reading other people's blogs through a feed reader myself so until recently I didn't realize how unlikely it is for anyone to see my blog presented in all of its obnoxious glory when they can have it generically spoon fed to them through a reader.
I totally understand how much easier on the eyes it is to read through a feed reader but other than that, it's not very hard to click through to the original post and see it presented with the personality of the blogger who wrote it (me, in this case). After about a year of using a feed reader (I use Google Reader) to keep up with my favorite blogs I've noticed I feel more detached from the people who write them. It's like swallowing food without chewing it -- just gulping it down. I also don't like that some elements in my posts aren't properly displayed, if they're displayed at all (example: flash or video elements).
On top of that, my blog doesn't make as much money as it used to before the rise in popularity of feedreaders. Of course there are a number of reasons for that, but the fact that more people are reading me while fewer people are seeing advertisements for my sites and other sites I promote PROBABLY plays a pretty big part. I have never been one of those people who feels the need to apologize for wanting my work on the web to make some money so I'm not going to start now, especially since I think most of my selling is pretty soft/laid-back. I don't shove advertisements down readers' throats constantly, but I am also not going to keep throwing away my real estate when I can least afford to do so. I want people to be reminded every time they read my blog of my little amateur porn empire and crappy design "skills". Every time people read my blog, I want them to see my picture in the sidebar. I do not want people to see me as something contained within google or feedburner or whatever-the-hell. It's depersonalizing and also just not very smart on my part as a webwhore.
I know for SOME people the whole point of using a reader to consume blogs is getting all the content in one place. For me, using a reader is actually more about being alerted when posts are made to my favorite blogs without having to compulsively click and refresh a million links in a list to see if my beloved bloggers have updated yet. It's also about being able to organize, favorite and label blogs and posts. Reading other people's blogs has always felt very intimate to me and I want it to keep being that way; I don't like the way my reliance on Google Reader has made all the blogs I used to recognize on sight conform to the same look and feel. I've also hardly added any new blogs to my lineup because I'm not visiting people's blogs and clicking on their links anymore. I'm totally missing out! So yeah -- I'm just not going to give readers the option anymore to ignore my sidebars and shit. Plplplplplpl!!
Just to rub salt in your wounds, I added a gigantic flash animated Fleshlight banner over there. BECAUSE EVERYONE WITH A DICK SHOULD HAVE ONE and it makes me totally hot to look at those kinds of things being played with or even just presented on display (see also my entry on Tiny Fake Pussies). If I find a less obnoxious banner that I like just as much that shows some "action", I will replace it, though. Or maybe if someone says that it gave them a seizure.
Anyhoo, here are a few little images from the video we posted yesterday for members:
Here are a few samples from the first set of pictures we shot together using our new camera remote:
A test shot to check the light; I like how you can see some of our camera stuff, including the remote not yet hooked up in this one:
One of my favorite shots that made the whole awkwardness of jumping up and down off Delia's face to adjust the camera on the tripod, etc. worth every minute of it even though I had to crop this picture to make it look like this:
Today I'm editing the video we shot after the pictures which is rife with our squeaky bed squeaking and awkward-sounding silences which I hope to smooth out if I can find the right free music to do so, though probably I'll just waste a bunch of time listening to stuff and deciding against it completely at the end. It's hard for me to do a bunch of dirty talking when my head is working so hard at trying to visualize the images we're capturing and enjoy the sensations I'm feeling. It makes me feel shy, voyeuristic and nonverbal most of the time. After so many years of doing this stuff you'd think ALL of it would come really naturally to me, but it usually doesn't. Also, we really haven't shot mass quantities of video together (mostly we have shot each other solo) so it's still an amateurish learning experience every time. But a fun one, as this other favorite picture of mine indicates:
The goofiest stuff to be seen and heard on our spycams comes from our kitchen cam where Delia cooks and I come in to harass her. Whatever song I have stuck in my head is screeched out loudly, bizarre dance moves are revealed, body spasms are articulated.
Here's a little photographic evidence (shot by remote on our Nikon D300, not webcam snags) of us dork dancing to the soundtrack in our minds:
In less fun news of self-employment on the internet, we've had our share of little challenges. One of the big ones: our sites got hacked and a malware script was installed on most of the main index pages. Our hosting company immediately helped me fix it when I discovered it RIGHT as I was about to do a show but we weren't fast enough for one site, BloodyTrixie, so it got a big warning slapped on it by google which they quickly removed after I used their webmaster tools to report that the malware had been removed and *I* didn't put it there (this type of hacking happens to people -- has even happened to google, yahoo, etc. THEMSELVES -- so often they had a really good, easy-to-submit-to, process to go through to get it remedied). I hope everyone realizes how important it is to have good security software to detect these things because this can happen to any site you trust and have surfed safely forever. I personally use PrevX (which is how I discovered the problem in the first place when it alerted me that I got malware from one of my own fucking sites).
Anyway, it could have been much worse, but even then it's one of those freaky things that makes you realize how ephemeral and vulnerable your content, reputation, page rank, search engine placement, trustworthiness, etc. are to having some stranger in motherfucking Russia or Belarus or wherever-the-hell robotically shitting on all of your work. The REALLY scary thing is imagining how ruined you could be if someone actually had a personal vendetta against you and decided to fuck with you.
We've also had a random power outage this week (making our spycams go down), then almost two hours of our main internet connection being down for everybody in our county (making most of our spycams go down AGAIN), and before that our main spycam host taking a dive in the middle of the night PLUS one of our OTHER spycam hosts having a bunch of downtime (meaning cam downtime on THAT system). AND when I finally got around to running a backup of my main machine's hard drive the whole thing took a gigantic shit and I thought I might have been too late. Two dozen blue screens of death and many hours later I got it fixed (AND backed up), though (and no -- I'm not buying that this is because I use PCs; in all my years of PC use I've never had a problem like this; I've never even had a hard drive fail on me [except for the one in my old laptop that I spilled liquids on] and LOOK! It's all fixie-pooed!).
Anyway, at times these are the things that lend a nightmarish quality to working for yourself and relying upon electronics and stuff. Maintaining your vulnerable little tools is, you know, WORK. And sometimes I feel like I have no control over any of it or competency to deal with it. You're always babysitting and battling a bunch of overheated computer monsters.
We've got webcam shows and a members-only chat scheduled today. Members can check out our google calendar here for details.
We *finally* got a remote control to take pictures of ourselves together. Here are a couple of our first silly attempts, just testing it out:
Trixie is "The Other Sister"
The Pervy Ogre
Last night we shot a "real" (in other words, pornographic) set together taken in vivid color, wearing stockings and corsets. It was challenging and extremely time consuming, but worth the effort and expense of the remote even for poorly composed photos (in fact, some of the ones with pieces of us unintentionally chopped out were the best; it feels more voyeuristic and amateur, I think). We should have done this a long time ago. Anyway, today I'll work on editing that gallery and maybe the video, too.
From a video we shot awhile back but just posted recently:
I don't do enough glasses porn so we shot that in part to try to remedy that. It's a shame I don't shoot more stuff while I'm wearing my spectacles since I have a really "sexy" strong prescription, if you're into that sort of thing:
right eye = -6.75 -1.00 x 135 left eye = -4.00 -2.75 x 156
The third number is for my astigmatism.
I also did a creepy voice-over/roleplay with myself for that video AND Delia threw her back out shooting that POV (point of view), so I want to make sure it's fully "appreciated" by nerd-lovers. Members can see it here. Non-members can join our sites to see it OR buy it on our clips4sale store (look for "Interview with a Nerd").
Speaking of nerds, we finally saw Star Trek last night. Aside from it being an amazing, must-see-on-the-big-screen event, it totally had a Father's day theme AND there were only five other people in the theatre with us, and three of those people were mega-Trekkers. The dude looked exactly like "Sex", the crazy guy whose mom brings him to try out for So You Think You Can Dance every season. Only this guy made really awesome geeked-out joy noises in response to the movie and made the experience even more pleasurable and authentic than it would have otherwise been. I mean, we totally geeked out but this nerd-monkey NOISE that he made just epitomized what Star Trek fans are all about. And even with that few people in the seats, I *still* managed to get some fucker putting his feet up on our row of seats and shaking the shit out of me so, as usual, I had to have words with someone. PEOPLE. I love and loathe the shit out of them.
I think the last movie was saw in the theatre before this was Twilight so we're parched for big screen entertainment. I'd love to see Up and Terminator Salvation before it's too late.
She describes herself as an "eco-feminist-pagan-hippie sex-worker chick currently residing in a Nudist Colony in the last redneck outpost of South Florida". Loosely translated, that means most of my blog readers will dig her for at least one reason, if not more. Plus, she's FUCKING GORGEOUS. Like, a totally striking knockout. She reminds me of Emmanuelle Seigner and a girl I went to high school with (I know that means nothing to you, but the reminder of my gorgeous German friend with her cheshire cat grin is lovely to me).
She's also a fellow Niteflirt/phone sex operator and I squealed when she set up an appointment to "consult" with me on different possibilities for setting up spycams. After I got off the phone with her I watched her free Masturbation Impossible video (wankers: you will not make it through the portions where she carefully wobbles down the stairs wearing her rollerblades and smiles mischievously - SUPER HOT).
Right now Libby Lynn's describing herself as an art student and porn cashier and it's just a MAJOR OVERSIGHT on my part, me not adding her to my blog links before this. I think I thought she was already in there. From her I get a depth and breadth of inspiration/relation(? if that's the right word)/variety that I don't get from most other blogs and online contacts.
I sort of don't know how to describe the connection I feel when I read her, but as far as you go in deciding whether or not to dig into her posts and flickr and twitter and stuff, I think she'll appeal to smart voyeuristic types who like meaty posts and porn and art or are working on the process of their own selves/work/art.
I also updated my link to Mia who is now blogging at MiavonDoom.com, my online buddy from way back and a multimedia POWERHOUSE.
I remember working swing shift as one of the very best times in my life. I'd get off work between midnight and two in the morning and drive home in the dark experiencing the magic of RIGHTNESS, of everything having fallen into place and a lifelong problem being solved. That schedule didn't make everything perfect, of course, but it was a magical gift that explained part of my life and who I am to me and let me know that things CAN fall into place. It's one thing to complain vociferously about not being a morning person and another thing to be lucky enough to NOT HAVE TO BE. To experience yourself operating at maximum efficiency and enjoy your favorite parts of the day and night, skipping the parts that have never worked for you. To function so much better that you've got PROOF that this "night person" thing is real.
I'm at a point in my life where I need a new swing shift. My gears have been out of sync for years now and I keep looking for some little twinkly adjustment I can make that will fix things. I've given myself a bunch of tuneups and they've been eye-opening and helpful, but I'm desperate to feel something like the smooth, peaceful rightness of driving home on a nearly-empty freeway with the windows rolled down in the summer, smelling everything asleep and reveling in being awake, ready to go home and make a simple dinner for myself. The answer isn't making myself work from four to midnight now, either - I don't live alone anymore and I don't want to; I want to go to bed WITH Delia (not a night person, so we compromise). I feel like I've tried everything and suspect the answer is that I need more time to be completely alone with myself, without the sounds of anybody else, without being seen or heard by anyone watching . . . just totally removed from everybody's sounds and presence.
Last week I allowed myself the luxury of staying up all night long playing with TrixieRadio - listening to music, downloading new stuff and uploading it to the station . . . amusing myself and accomplishing something that has no monetary pay-off in the near future and is absolutely NOT what I should be spending huge blocks of time doing. But I miss listening to music. REALLY MISS IT. I am not someone who can work AND listen to music with words, so it's not an option for me to multitask. Besides, I don't want to. I want to do nothing but listen. NOTHING BUT. So I did, all night long, and organized my .mp3's and made lists of cd's I still need to rip and read about music and made a blog entry begging for money to justify doing it more. Being up all night doing that made me feel a little more like myself. And I finally bought an adaptor that provides phantom power for my months-old new microphone so I can personalize things more and potentially make more sales through the "radio" thing and podcasting. If I can figure out the perfect settings for recording with this microphone (one of those detail-oriented time-sucking tasks that annoys the shit out of me that I usually invest a couple of hours in then decide it's not worth it / I should wait for a better time to do it / I have more important things to do).
I've been retreating a lot more into our guest room, off cam and alone, which has been helpful but maybe I'm still not committed enough to it to really reap the benefits of it. I feel guilty about it and still can't get enough. I haven't figured out how to integrate my need for solitude with work and my relationship with Delia. She's really tolerant and understanding of my limitations in this area so it's me that needs to work out the kinks alone along with continuing to figure out how to succeed at being my own boss. You'd think after seven years I'd be an expert, but I'm still an amateur (both at working for myself and being in a relationship). A lot of things have changed for the better in the past year but I'm still struggling to find daily "rightness". I get glimmers of it, but very inconsistently; for everything I resolve to do better, something else falls by the wayside. It's like there's a never-ending rotation of things I do well and things I fuck up -- every day, every week, every month, every quarter, every year the same fucking challenges just trade places with each other. I make progress but only temporarily before regressing. I feel like I haven't CONQUERED anything in years and I'm pretty fucking sick of it. I try to be patient with myself, recognizing I've had some really fucked-up health problems and am still fine-tuning "curing" myself. Recognizing the economy sucks so it's not entirely my fault that we're on this debt merry-go-round.
The shitty thing is that having a positive attitude means feeling empowered and taking responsibility to fix stuff -- believing it's POSSIBLE to make things better; I'm just really really REALLY tired of the burden. Sometimes I just wish I could drive home and let my boss figure it out in the morning and tell me what to do when I go to work and know that it's not my fault if that was the wrong thing. Part of me loves how I've complicated my life and that I *don't* have a boss, but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST sometimes I miss having things be simple. I miss having someone else to blame. I miss not really caring about my job. That used to make me feel trapped, having to go to work for a certain number of hours and not doing anything even remotely creative. Now? I feel trapped because I *do* care about my job(s). Because it's rare that I get to establish a rhythm doing something simple for 6-8 hours. I can't quit because I love my work, but I have no idea when (if ever) I'll be able to do my job BETTER and not just feel like I'm running on a treadmill. A treadmill that lurches and changes speeds unpredictably and is just like . . . possessed with multiple personalities. There's no water-cooler where I can stand around bitching about my boss and how if I ran things I'd do them differently/better. I mean, I can do that, but it's not really good for my self-esteem. I am my own worst boss/enemy and I'm so. TIRED of it.
I keep slogging along, promising myself that if we just get rid of our debt we'll be able to AFFORD to establish some rhythms and magic swing shifts but right now we seriously do not have the money to do anything efficiently. Not shooting, not marketing, not exercising . . . not even fucking GROCERY shopping. Every day is a schizo fucking mess and I'm just so sleeeeeeeeeeeeeepy. Not as bad as I was before, but still . . . some days are pretty bad while I'm fine tuning different birth control pills, supplements, figuring out just how much fucking with my blood sugar I can get away with, etc.
Fuck it. I am going to order a pizza.
Sorry for the downer of a post. Things are good, I just needed to whine a little bit.
I just added Oasis' blog to my links and wanted to point her out to you. If you're interested in knowing all of the groundbreakers in internet porn -- people who had amateur sex sites before there were role models for such things -- read her blog because Oasis is one of a small handful of them.
She's one of those legendary people in *my* circle of do-it-yourself porn people, and has a hands-on, hardcore approach of swinging, fucking fans, flashing, gang bangs, interracial and party girl antics.
I don't know much about her (yet) except that she's doing sex work in Australia. I was introduced to her recently through tweets linking to this post she made -- It's You I'm Afraid Of -- that made me cry because so many parts of it rang so true for me, especially since I've been trying for the past few months to reconnect with family and friends and acquaintances from high school and college, some of them cops, many of them religious, loads of them Republicans, and a few others "liberal" (yes, in quotation marks).
"Folks want to be supportive but sometimes they donít get it and thatís OK. I donít expect people to know everythingóIím still learning too! But you should know that when you donít get it, it can really sting or, Iíll be honest, irritate the shit out of me.
So itís you that I sometimes protect myself from. Itís you who I will avoid or go silent with because I just donít want to deal with how disappointed I feel. Itís you that I write for and to. Itís you that I want on my side. You are the ones whoís judgments, stereotypes, awkward silences and ill-informed questions I watch out for. Itís you Iím afraid of."
I couldn't resist looking at the beautiful man-body chopping wood next door so I did something I think (I thought?) is really, REALLY wrong: I took sneaky pictures of him without his knowledge or consent. And now I'm doing something even MORE wrong: I'm posting one of them here:
He's not our neighbor, he just delivers and chops wood for our neighbor. And I HAVE to watch him do it, because the guy is incredibly beautiful. Not his face, just his whole old-fashioned working-man's body with that wedge-hourglass shape. The thick pants with the shiny metal details, the gloves, the white tank top, the cap, the scraggly mullet and those pale muscles built up in the shade and from working outside when it's raining, because it rains all the time where he works. He's like an 80's version of the guys in old propaganda posters like these:
I have always been in love with watching men do physical labor. Even though I felt sort of dreadful about it, I was compelled to run and get the camera. I stood in the kitchen and snapped a few pictures where he could have turned around and seen me. But before that happened, I ran into the bedroom and took pictures of him through the crack between two panels in our shoji screen so he couldn't catch me watching him through the magnifying lens of our camera. My desire to capture his image forever outweighed the voice in my head reminding me I was doing something wrong. Something I've seen/heard of other people (men) doing that sickened me, but that memory didn't stop me from doing it myself.
You shouldn't spend time on fetish-oriented forums online if non-consensual voyeuristic photography (and other stuff) bothers you. You'll find out things that you just don't want to know and see things you weren't meant to see. Like pictures of used maxi pads guys steal out of public restrooms or photos a foot fetishist surreptitiously took of his neighbor's niece's bare feet while their family unwittingly enjoyed a barbecue in their driveway. The woman was probably in her twenties and the guy who took and shared the pictures described his sneaky method for capturing them and the type of camera and settings he used and how he managed to not get caught.
The freaky part is the way these people usually don't even acknowledge the line they're crossing, or worse, act like they're ENTITLED to snagging these things that belong to other people. Of course, half the time someone with common sense will challenge these people or point out the err of their ways, but most people don't bother to post any opposition, instead just showing their appreciation for what the voyeur-thief has "created"/salvaged for the members of the board. Or they will critique the spoils, like the guy who complained that the neighbor chick with the bare feet was so fat, how in the world could the spy-photographer possibly think anyone would be interested in seeing her or be aroused by her himself? So not only is this woman with the arched foot and a BBQ rib in her mouth being displayed on the internet without her knowledge or consent, she's ALSO having her weight criticized. AWESOME, right?
I pretend that I'm not quite as bad as these sociopaths because I know what I'm doing is wrong. But I guess that actually makes me worse because I know it's wrong and I'm doing it anyway (and those guys on the forums might know it's wrong too, they just don't waste time making a big show of acting guilty about it the way I am in all of my gross hypocrisy).
I can pretend I'm conducting an experiment or research. That I'm a writer. That the end result of provoking thought about these important issues of privacy, consent, and all SORTS of interesting things is worth the negligible or nonexistent "damage" I'm doing. And after all, it's a really REALLY grey area, right? I mean, how many people would even think me taking and posting the picture of the axe man is wrong if I didn't tell you that *I* think it's (maybe) wrong? And this isn't really a blog entry about that guy, it's about me or the collective us and the image is actually a snapshot of me -- the voyeur -- and my thoughts, not him. It's entirely possible to intellectualize it that way. He could be anybody. You can't see his face. No one will ever know who he is. Probably not, anyway.
And would he care if people DID know? Maybe he'd WANT to be credited and known far and wide as The Woodsman Who Got Trixie Hot. Of course, that brings me back to the obvious trespass of not asking for his permission to photograph him in the first place, but speaking of consequences, *I* certainly don't want to pay them. I don't want *him* to know he was chopping wood next to TASTYTRIXIE and therefore knows about our websites and where I live and can tell everyone how to find me (I'd have to tell him about our sites in order for him to give INFORMED consent, though that disclosure would be out of ethical, not legal obligation; you don't have to specify where or when something will published on a consent form, just that you as the photographer have all rights to the photos which legally you don't REALLY need to do anyway since in our country the photographer automatically owns the photos, not the model). I don't want to tell a big strong stranger with an axe and a cock that he gives me a boner and I want to take pictures of him -- LOTS of pictures. Well, I do sort of want to tell him that, but I know it's not such a good idea/could cause problems. He might be weird or scary or even if he isn't, then our neighbor (a decent neighbor, not our scary neighbor) would know about us and that would make everyone on the block uncomfortable. Most of all us.
If it were my actual neighbor out there making me hot chopping wood, I wouldn't have taken the pictures. Because that would be violating the good neighbor code of pretending each other doesn't exist. And I certainly wouldn't take pictures of his young daughter! Even if it were to record how she trespasses on OUR property, walking just three feet past me sitting in our window. Well, maybe I would (for proof of trespass only!), but I wouldn't post them on the internet. But maybe only because I'm a pornographer and could get in trouble for it just by virtue of that fact.
When I pondered these things aloud to Delia, she doubted my assertion that if it were a woman out there, hanging laundry or washing a car, I totally wouldn't have taken the pictures. She's probably right. After all, I took this picture (without her knowledge/consent) of a hot redhead fishing because she had a really great ass:
It's the kind of picture you can get away with taking in public and even sell prints of in local galleries that don't have any artistic standards. It's the kind of picture no one (except other wankers) would bat an eye at as long as you keep up the appearance of it being completely innocent. Even though I know that I took it purely out of sexual/sensual interest. And I know that any straight man with a camera would have taken it for exactly the same reason (or to prove to himself that he wasn't) whether he would admit it or not, and there are tens of thousands of men with cameras with hobbies or professions doing exactly that. I know a lot of people who take completely g-rated innocent-looking pictures and jack off to them later even if they didn't intend to when they snapped them.
Part of me feels justified in posting this because there are so many writers and artists and reporters and network television stations getting away with doing so much worse with absolutely no compunction. It's only people like me who openly call ourselves pornographers who are recognized for exploiting and objectifying others even though we play be much stricter rules and are faced with much harsher penalties for violating them than any other industry would be. But that train of thought is just another diversion from asking myself how *I* would feel if my neighbor were peeping through a crack in the blinds taking pictures of ME doing yardwork or thinking he's not home when I sunbathe naked on our deck when actually he's hidden behind a tree and rubbing his crotch against its bark. Of course, I'd feel totally different about it if I had a teenage son or daughter being spied on. But the guy chopping wood is clearly an adult. And he wasn't sunbathing naked. And again, I don't think I'd care if my neighbor secretly stood in his kitchen taking pictures of me as I walk around OUR kitchen at night topless (which I do sometimes with the blinds open, not because I'm an exhibitionist but because I just don't care) as long as he didn't hang them in the post office with our address printed on them or something.
Meh. Now that I think about it, I really don't care. As long as someone stays on their own property (not sneaking onto mine or a stranger actually stalking into the neighborhood to spy on us or putting on an obscene display of masturbating and shooting cum into our yard) and is only taking pictures of what I do outside or with the windows open then who cares. It's kind of fucked up, but not a huge deal. It's not like I'm lying in wait every day, conducting surveillance on everything that our neighbors and their visitors do.
After completely overthinking this, I absolve myself from guilt. It's harmless and legal. But I guess if I give myself permission to be an opportunistic voyeur-perv-photographer that means I have to stop being shocked and offended by other people who do the same thing. I'm reluctant to do that.
Here's a couple with a sleeping bag and no picnic basket that I shot entirely because I knew they were setting out to lie down together and *do things*:
If I hadn't admitted that and had posted the picture somewhere else, like on a stock photo site using woman-approved keywords like "young love" and "spring romance" (and cropped out our cracked windshield & wipers giving away that I'm like a dirty old man doing a drive-by) it would probably be perceived in a totally different way. It would just be a bad snapshot. But because of who I am and what my site is and my confession that I'm a voyeuristic pervert who sees sexual potential everywhere, it seems more DIRTY and exploitative than it really is. What if a local television station were doing one of those weather "stories" about how people were still going to the beach even though it's overcast, and those two lovebirds were in the background? Would the station be committing an evil deed? If not, why does it seem so evil when I do it and admit that I see erotic potential? And why would it seem so much grosser and more evil if I were a man instead of a woman?
We went to Seattle but my sister didn't go into labor so we came home again. It was great to see them though, especially my number one nephew, Mr. Squishypants who's almost three now. We all went to the Japanese Garden at the Arboretum, a place I've always wanted to revisit ever since an annoying trip we took there when I was a teenager. I wanted to return and have everything be tranquil. IT WAS!!
One of the things I miss most about living in Tacoma is walking to the Conservatory and just sitting in there soaking in good, moist air and beauty. If we lived in Seattle I would probably hang out at the Japanese Garden for hours and hours every week. It's fucking therapy, man. It kind of boggles my mind that there are beautiful places -- gardens like these or woods like the Hoh rainforest (yes, I should totally do a WebHOH shoot) -- and people don't go, LET'S KEEP/MAKE EVERYTHING THIS LEVEL OF AWESOMELY BEAUTIFUL!!. And I'm not saying everything has to be totally pristine and "natural" to be beautifully awesome; we were impressed by Harborside Park at the Bremerton ferry terminal next to the shipyards (also beautiful, to me).
If I were to cultivate my own garden, it would be a moss and fern garden. I love how primitive they are. They totally feel like home to me.
After taking a bunch of pictures at the garden and looking at them here at home, I realized I'm doing a terrible job of paying attention to my horizon line or just making sure the subject of my photos aren't accidentally slightly slanted; most of my pictures look a little crooked. I don't know if other people would notice it, especially when there's so much stuff in the pictures, but taking non-porn pictures is always a good (and relaxing) learning experience. I wonder if it's because I'm still not used to our bigger, heavier camera? Using the viewfinder? I don't know, but I'm going to try to pay better attention to that.
Call me superficial, but coming home with much-blonder hair meant so much to me - it boosted my mood and ego a billion points. Our hair-chick ratted and teased it to be tall on top because she has a Rock of Love fetish, so to take advantage of it we did a slutty faux-schoolgirl shoot and I was too in love with myself to stop there, so I snagged some webcam shots:
Just the day before this I went to the mall and wandered around by myself while Delia got a laser treatment. I was in my usual comfortable-slob mode wearing a pair of old black sweats that were falling down (the drawstring broke a long time ago so I try to hold it together by wadding the waist up in front and whipping a ponytail-holder around that wad to cinch it up) so it looked like I had shit in my drawers, nerdy silver tennis shoes, and an old-lady baby-blue polar fleece ladies jacket from LL Bean that was a Christmas present from Delia's mom a few years ago. I looked so old and so tired and so washed out and I felt that way, too. Like I should apologize for looking so shitty.
I had that quintessential "she's given up on herself" look. Theoretically I HATE that criticism and don't care what I look like which is part of why I became a webwhore in the first place; since I rarely feel motivated to dress up and be seen, the thought of being paid to do it and have a visual record of the times I did appealed to me. I'd be off the hook and could always point to those pictures as proof that I CAN look good if I WANT to and have already DONE that. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Why do it EVERY DAY? Of course, there's a slight flaw in my logic since we broadcast spycams and most people paying to see them would like me to look sexy on them all of the time, or at least more often than I do, but whatever. I walked around the mall looking from a respectful distance at clothes and makeup and other ways to improve my appearance, feeling like I wasn't worthy or capable of asking to touch anything expensive and beautiful enough to make a significant change.
The point is that I looked blah and yucky and didn't feel good about it at all. No, that's not the point. The POINT is in the contrast between how I felt that day and the next, when I came home with my hair really blonde and stood in front of the mirror and drew outside of the lines of my lips and filled them in with thick, gooey gloss and frosty highlights and brushed on dark eyeshadow and put on fake lashes.
I felt like magic. Like this is why people want to look like porn stars. Because (sometimes?) it feels a lot better than looking like muted, sloppy shit. And it doesn't matter if I just applied a boundary of fakeness between the plain foundation of myself and what people see, because it felt best when I was the only one looking at myself there in the bathroom mirror or taking self-absorbed pictures of myself.
Why am I hiding the plain truth under all of this bullshit self-criticism and analysis? All I'm trying to say is that looking in the mirror and seeing yourself looking like a hot fucking slut feels VASTLY SUPERIOR to slouching around feeling like an unattractive slob. It's inconvenient, but true. No matter how much I wish my protestations that looking good is a waste of my time and money were true, THEY AREN'T.
It's fucking biology that we want people to want to fuck us on sight, that we want people to be jealous of us, that we want people's eyes to light up when they see us, that we want to advertise our fantastic genes (or that we want to look better than our average ones). If you're a woman (who isn't still shattered by one or more people hurting you because you looked like hot sex and they took it from you) some part of you wants people to look at you with desire and appreciation. Even when it annoys me to be gawked at, it charges my fucking battery. It's absolutely electric.
You want to look so good that you can control a man into paying for dinner just to get a whiff of your hair and stare at your cleavage, that you can render him insensible to paying for everything you need to keep looking so good -- to maintain your value and keep commanding higher and higher prices -- shoes that make your feet arch and sparkly jewelry accentuating all your graceful, slender parts and tight pants and shiny hair and fat, pouting lips and pampering spa treatments performed by undemanding female hands that MIGHT just render you pliant enough to be amenable to saying "thank you" with your soft body. It's an expensive art and time-consuming work to always look like a shiny, animated toy cocksucker and I've never mastered it or even kidded myself that I could compete on that level.
The older I get, the rarer and more exciting it is when I get a taste of what it feels like to BE hot sex. Normally I am the one LOOKING at one of the shiny girls, simply appreciating how they glitter from head to toe, putting so much time and money into tanning, waxing, accessorizing, and accentuating every single morsel of their bodies. Hoping that someone admires and respects it enough to make it worth their while, constantly forgetting that there are intrinsic rewards to looking like honey come to life and taking soft female form and maybe that is enough for them.
My head and body have been so fucked up and bloated and distorted off and on for so many years that now, getting it back on track, I'm at an age where I don't take it for granted anymore that tomorrow I could be riding some strange boy's cock and having him looking up at me in complete amazement and disbelief, moaning about how he can't believe he's really fucking me. That might never happen again, which is fine, but it would still be nice to know that it's POSSIBLE even if I don't want to act on it (it actually feels especially powerful knowing I probably won't). How many years do I have left where I'll be ABLE to turn heads in public? You don't have to be a great beauty to make that happen. Do I really want to waste those opportunities playing the invisible slob?
It's disgusting to admit, but when I pass a mirrored column in a mall I want to make myself wet looking at myself. When I walk by a shiny window of a restaurant I want to see my own reflection on top of people who are WATCHING me and not be able to resist smiling, knowing that they are delighted and mesmerized by what they see. ANY woman can manage if she has time and the desire to advertise herself using resources like bleached hair and juicy lip stains and clothes that highlight your best bounce, wiggle or stride. Resources she can extract from men. It's the OTHER circle of life. It might be a totally fucked up stereotype of gender roles, something progressive men and women want to move away from (or better, switch up for fun -- I do fantasize about being a sugar mama to young women and sometimes men), but sometimes I can't help celebrating it and wanting to WIN at it and enjoy the cheap/expensive thrill of it.
Attempting it often feels awkward and unnatural and hardly-worth-it, but when it works the rewards feed some primal need in me that are so close to my core I can't dismiss them as fake or stupid or unhealthy. There is no pretending we can evolve past this.
Note: originally this entry included more reflection and deeper insight on where my conflicted feelings about making myself up to look "sexy" (or at least presentable) in public (and in general) might have come from but it turned into a total downer so maybe I'll save that for another time. I feel like I should apologize for my undying fascination with mulling over these matters and warn you that they don't end here and I can't unwaveringly commit to any one perspective on them.
I'm already totally embarrassed by this post even though the whole point of it is not to be.
It's not as light as I was maybe aiming for/have had in the past, but it will get there. I trust the colorist I have now completely and think this is a good transitional, natural-looking dirty blonde. Every time I go back it will get lighter. AND SLUTTIER!
It doesn't look it in these pictures, but the color reminds me of Irlene Mandrell's back when Barbara Mandrell had her show; obviously I'm dating myself, but I thought Irlene was HOT (and that show was RAD) so I'm totally flattering myself with the comparison. Other than the hair color (as I remember it in the show) I am/look nothing like "Irlene Mandrell! What's a nice girl like you . . . "
Man, chicks were so much hotter/sluttier in the eighties. The satin shirt, fake-stupid voice, eyeliner, tight jeans and boots give me a nostalgic hard-on.
I'm excited about going to bed tonight, partly because I exercised for more than 90 minutes (gasp -- this is massively unusual/hard for me), but mostly because Delia got wood. For our bed. Because our mattress is too soft and saggy which has made her back get totally fucked up to the point where lately she gets up in the middle of the night to sleep on the floor or in the guest room (which also has a too-soft mattress, but she can toss and turn without worrying about disturbing me). Today she got a thick sheet of plywood to put under the mattress/over the box springs and it seems to have made a big difference judging from the short after-dinner nap I took on it. I can't wait to see what a full night on it will do.
My birthday last week was filled with ding dongs and dildos and a deep sigh of gratitude that a few people treated me to a trip to the salon tomorrow to go back to being a blonde.
I sort of stretched out my own personal celebration, doing shows on my birthday proper, then attempting to watch an engrossing movie, selecting Changeling which was sort of a big fat mistake. YES, it was engrossing. In a horrible, harrowing, gut-wrenching way. And even though I knew I was being totally emotionally manipulated by the film industry, I couldn't just TURN IT OFF the way I did with Titanic (you heard me -- I shut that melodramatic motherfucker off and refused to watch it past halfway).
Changeling pretty much ruined our plan to go see The Reader the last night it was playing in town. Instead we opted for something a little more uplifting to balance out the trauma of Changeling: we moved the Playstation (a birthday present from years back) into the bedroom and played a snowboarding video game (SSX3) for hours. And ate ding dongs. Well, *I* ate ding dongs. Delia didn't.
And then I threw the rest of the ding dongs away. Because a) my birthday was OVER, and b) I have a goal to lose 15 pounds by June 1st (or less if I'm satisfied/feel good before I get there; since I've already lost four since I made the goal, I only have 11 to go). I definitely don't want to lose TOO much of this action:
I continued celebrating a couple days ago when I noticed our friend had a two-for-one print sale going on and since I hadn't bought any of her art yet, I treated myself! It was affordable and made me happy.
But what I *really* wanted to do for my birthday was spend some more time reading Paul Auster's The New York Trilogy which is SO FUCKING AWESOME I set it aside because I seriously couldn't stand for it to end knowing there would be a big gaping emptiness without having more of it to look forward to. So today? I went to the used bookstore and picked up the only two Auster paperbacks they had on the shelf (Oracle Night and The Brooklyn Follies). Now I can finish The NY Trilogy and still feel like there's a reason to live.
I also looked for the second and third books in the Abhorsen series, but they only had Sabriel (which I finished months ago and want to hurry up and continue before I forget everything). I grabbed a couple other titles (ex. Codex) plus some appealing books in the "free box" (ex. The Tommyknockers) and guiltily made my way home with a satisfying stack of stories to chew on. Sometimes I leave the books I buy in the car or somewhere Delia won't see them right away because I feel so bad about spending the money on them when I don't even read most of them right away (if ever) and I refuse to GET RID of any of them unless they really suck total ass, so they'll all be living with us forever.
The thing is, I need to have CHOICES. Because there are some moments on the toilet where I'm after a very specific kind of book to lull myself into a comfortable shit. Or the weather demands a certain genre. Or I'm emotionally craving a story that delivers total escapism. And fuck . . . when it only costs $25 to buy a big armful of pleasure, how wrong can it be? Plehhhhhhhszhoooooooor . . . is in the booooooooooks.
Maybe tomorrow after I endure the torture of getting my hair colored, I'll continue celebrating my birthday with some Paul Auster and a sweet mug of Russian Caravan tea.
We very much enjoyed having Kris Madison and company over this weekend, including her pug:
We indulged in the finest pizza, quiche and naughty treats from McDonalds, played birthday games, saw Coraline (delightful), talked sex, introduced Kris to Deep Space Nine, and didn't get QUITE enough sleep (WELL worth it).
I also got enough work done that I feel carpal-tunnel-syndromey in my right wrist, but not enough done that I'm not panicking right now since tomorrow we've got chat and shows lined up for members to celebrate my birthday and St. Patrick's Day and I'm still trying to finish a members-only update and eleven promotional galleries I meant to send to affiliates way BEFORE St. Pat's.
My show tomorrow (the 17th) is at 4 pm (PACIFIC TIME), Delia's is at 6, and my members-only birthday chat is from 7 to 8:30. If you can't make that one, there's another one on Saturday from 4 to 5:30 to possibly draw/determine the winners of the make-me-blonde thing (which, after last week's terrifyingly low sales (a subject for another blog entry), will be the only way I can afford to make that shiny transition. There is hope for you yet, redhead and brunette lovers!
Here are a few spookily-costumed samples from the gallery I just posted for members:
I'm going to keep the most lickably pink shots private/just for members this time around.
Delia never complains about being in pain; since I met her seven years ago she's only mentioned something hurting her a handful of times, one of them when she had salmonella poisoning. This week her back's been bothering her and getting worse, to the point where she couldn't even sleep on our soft mattress last night (so soft she thinks that's one of the culprits) so I didn't quite get all of my Z's either (it's so weird to wake up and not have her there beside me in bed) so I'm going to try to take a nap now since we'll probably be up late having fun with our company tonight and the rest of this weekend. I want to be well-rested to fully enjoy their visit!
If my "porn" were standing before the judges on American Idol, Simon would totally call it self-indulgent nonsense. Like shooting almost entirely non-nude sets of pictures with a ren-fairish flavor just because I REALLY LIKE WEARING LONG VELVET DRESSES AND THIS IS MY FAVORITE NECKLACE AND I LIKE PRANCING AROUND IN THE FOREST!! From my latest members-only update:
Most people don't "get" non-nude or softcore porn, and I do think there's a bigger market for straightforward explicit hardcore sex (and I myself prefer to masturbate to fairly explicit, genital-oriented content, though not the generic kind), but make no mistake . . . there's definitely a market for the soft stuff. I'm not sure, but I'm *guessing* that its appeal diminishes the older the model gets, but I could be wrong. I *hope* I'm wrong. Because I will proceed as though I *am* wrong about that. Because I'm totally a self-indulgent softcore kind of lady. Well, not totally. Which is what makes my site difficult to categorize since I love hardcore stuff, too.
Running a personality site means I'm selling myself -- intimate access to WHO I am -- as much as jack-off material (which is everywhere nowadays for free), but maintaining a balance can be a challenge particularly since the balance other people want to see really varies. There are a lot of people who think the porno stuff is boring and others who think the "self-indulgent" softcore/personally revealing stuff is boring. I don't get that information from my own members (who I guess usually know it's futile/counter-productive to complain about what I do/don't do), but from surfing around and reading the variety of opinions/assumptions on this matter. I gave up on trying to please "everybody" a long time ago, but still feel self-conscious sometimes KNOWING that people will look at some of what I put out there, particularly something they paid for, and will be dissatisfied. Even when you know you can't please everybody, you still feel crappy sometimes that you can't. That you know someone will be distinctly UNhappy because you're older, because you're too nasty, because you're not nasty enough, because you're shaved, because you're hairy, because you're too quiet or not quiet enough. It's a constant challenge to silence that chatter in your head of what other people might be thinking and listen only to what you yourself want and think. But when I do, I hear that I want more cheap, stretchy, crushed-velvet dresses from the thrift store. I want more of the scenery I love that is home to me. I want more cleavage and swooning and vulgar meaty thighs.
I like being suggestive without fully delivering. I wonder how much of that's a (mostly) chick thing -- enjoying having a scene set and characters drawn and then using your own imagination to fill in the blanks to your own liking whereas (most) men want all of the blanks filled in for them in explicit, glossy detail. I have actually been thinking about duplicating and reformatting the way I present some of my softcore picture sets in order to fill in some of those blanks, or ramp up to the nudity in a way that makes it feel more like a money shot once you get to it, but I'm not sure I'll ever have time for that project. I think it would be very effective, though.
Lately I feel a little tempted to stop updating my site as frequently and focus more on marketing Delia's site. Financially, that would make a lot of sense, but I don't want to do that. The fact that Delia's site significantly outsells mine does free me up to think of her site as the bread and butter that allows me to totally fuck around on mine and do whatever I want without worrying that we'll lose our main source of income when I alienate all of my members. Not that this would happen, but the appeal of Delia's site compared to mine does give me a sense of freedom that it's not all about me. It doesn't all rely upon me. That's a huge relief that allows me to end these annoying trains of insecure thought on a positive note and go back to indulging in my own flights of fancy. In the forest! Twirling around in a long dress! Wearing a gypsy necklace with amethysts! And what more do people want than my boobies, anyway?
I want to pay more attention to seasonal holidays, the weather, rituals and nature so for the past six months or so a lot of our shoots have reflected my focus on integrating those things into our lives. Tomorrow is Fat Tuesday, a day I would never have had any awareness of if it weren't for having a magnificent pen pal from Baton Rouge when I was a teenager (if he sees this link and then these pictures I'm sure his eyes will melt in their sockets and dribble down his face in tears of horror -- I don't want to do this to you, really I don't -- I only want your Daily Preciousness to get the attention it deserves!) so here are some of my Mardi Gra-tesque pictures from a set I posted for my members today:
It's hard to procure a lot of beads when you're already totally naked:
The photo set might not win any prizes for creativity or eroticism, but for me it was a major achievement -- couldn't have been better. We shot them last night and I edited and uploaded them within two hours and actually HAD FUN doing it. My mind is still blown by how awesome life is when you don't feel like crap from fucked-up hormone imbalances. I'm not sure how apparent it is in pictures or on cam, but I feel 500% better than I did a couple months ago when getting ready for a shoot was TORTURE, to say nothing of actually doing the shooting itself. My face and neck were all bizarrely fat (even more than is normal for me -- seriously, ONE double chin is cute . . . six rolls are not), my lips were thin, there were terrifying dark puffy circles under my eyes . . . it was sheer fucking painful hell. All I can say is THREE CHEERS FOR ESTROGEN!
When I have a few more shoots I like posted, I will post a putrid gallery I've been sitting on that epitomizes how wretched and disgusting I felt. Sort of a before and after kind of thing.
Last night after we did all of that, Delia was "in the mood". After I spent about ten minutes rambling about my curiosity regarding hemorrhoids and whether or not I have one, she politely asked if I would like to engage in sexual intercourse (probably as a counter to my repeated invitations to her to inspect my anus). I clapped my hands together and cried, "get the lube!"
After that it was actually sexy. You might not be able to imagine how, but you don't have to. That's our private joy . . . just between the two of us. And our voyeur cams, of course.
Unfortunately a variety of circumstances conspired against us. Like how I forgot that things have changed a lot since I was a teenager from two towns over driving around the area; now there are thousands of yuppies crawling around in and out of their weird, flimsy, housing development hives. There was TRAFFIC and stuff, even before school/work got out during the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Like how the sun was shining so it sort of ruined the mood, as far as I'm concerned, of capturing the Twin Peaks feeling of that particular shot - I think we'd have had to wake up really early and get out there right when everyone would have been driving to work to have gotten the right light.
There were also work crews out in a lot of places tending to damage done by the flooding. We wound up shooting on the riverbank further down the road and getting there was like walking through the sand into a weird post-war scene sort of like after Mount St. Helens exploded and covered everything in grey ash.
In the winter when there are already bare branches and less green, when the floodwaters recede they leave behind extra greyness and washed-out debris on all of the low branches and trunk-bottoms.
A fifteen year old girl was brought up on first degree murder charges around the same time as the most recent flooding here in Washington. Apparently she gave birth to a baby (fathered by a man in his thirties) at home in the bathroom where she let it drown in the toilet, and with (at the very least) the knowledge of her meth-head dad she'd only been living with for a few weeks, placed the body inside the rest of their garbage on the curb.
This news broke at the same time I was looking at pictures of the valley where I grew up with most of it covered by floodwater. I remembered the times we'd be trying to come home from somewhere, caught by rising water, and my stepdad would drive through standing water on flooded-out roads even after my mom begged him not to. I especially remember one of those times being at night. Pitch dark except for headlights shining out over water in places it shouldn't be, all of us screaming for him not to do it. Alone in the night surrounded by black water at the mercy of a motherfucking man behind a steering wheel.
Many people do this. Many people die when people do this. Kids and spouses and girlfriends, powerless in cars controlled by someone who assesses the risk as worth taking and makes the decision for everyone to plunge ahead. These deaths are almost always called "accidents". Tragic accidents. Even if the people were screaming and crying and begging the person not to do it. People who have names and can talk and the person didn't just go through physical trauma to give birth to in the bathroom of a house with a drug-dealing dad with a gun. Driven by people old enough to have a driver's license as opposed to someone who isn't allowed to drive a car by herself but was fucked without a rubber by some guy over thirty.
First. Degree. Murder.
Do you know the sound of a car driving through deep water in the dark with your little sister sitting beside you in the back seat? And you can't do anything to stop it or create any kind of safety? It's a scary fucking sound. My stepdad never even got a ticket for any of the times he did that.
The River. "River" is a scary, dark, dangerous word in my memory. It was a place my mom was afraid we would drown. A place where men dumped women's bodies. A swift swelling uncontainable body that could rise up and burst out of its banks in a matter of hours just because the sun did too much shining too early in the spring. The river is a fucking menace and I can never understand it when real estate brochures list "riverfront" in the words to lure prospective buyers. But I still miss living by those rivers, even though I hate the nightmares I still have about them. They are never not flooding in my dreams.
We actually only shot two sets of pictures and a video (all of Delia) but it was worth it not just for the content but to seize the moment and enjoy a few hours away off cam to visit my mom on one day and just do NOTHING some of the rest of the time. Seriously, we played a silly computer game called Peggle Nights for hours one night, and it was totally cool because we NEVER do things like that. It was so cold outside, and there was so much junk food to be eaten, and we were away from home for the first time since I started feeling human again . . . I wish we could have spent a WEEK not shooting or doing anything work-related.
It seems like that happens a lot when we leave home for shoots; we realize OH MY GOD WE HAVE NOT TAKEN ANY TIME OFF FOR OURSELVES OR SCHEDULED ANY VACATIONS AWAY THAT WERE NOT WORK IN FOREVER/NEVER AND NO ONE IS WATCHING US ON CAM IT'S LIKE OUR PARENTS LEFT US AT HOME ALONE!! Let's discover all of the microwavable instant noodles for sale at QFC and slum around doing absolutely nothing productive! LET'S HAVE A PEGGLE NIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA!!!
Seriously -- it was bitterly cold outside. I don't know how Delia managed to achieve an erection out there. I would have cried my titties off. Next time I *will* shoot something on Ronette's bridge, though -- I promise! Unless a new Peggle comes out . . . (fyi: we downloaded Peggle Nights from Big Fish Games)
In the meantime I have no idea what to post for my members-only update since I *thought* I was going to have Twin Peaksy pics to post. I mean, I have many IDEAS, I'm just not sure what we can pull off quickly. Like, tonight. We'll see what happens.
Am I superstitious about black cats and Friday the 13th and all of that? No. If I am, it's in the opposite way -- my rational mind rejects those superstitions and my personality seems to overcompensate by becoming GIDDY over the prospect of walking under ladders and attaching positive meaning to supposedly unlucky days/events/portents of doom. So yeah . . . I'm irrationally attached to those things that superstitious people consider unlucky.
I'm happy to be home again after being gone for four. We didn't get much shooting done, but the trip and time we took was worth it not just for the pictures, but the time to ourselves, off cam. We haven't spent a night away from work (aka home) together since . . . well, since well before September. I don't think this trip totally counted as a vacation, but it was a reminder that we should try taking one every so often (I know, it seems like I'm always saying that and never fully committing to doing it).
We also spent a few hours on Friday visiting my mom including eating at Ken's Truck Town (yes, we like eating at truck stops; why did they take the Monte Cristo off the menu?) and visiting the new casino. I was surprised she wanted to check it out since my stepdad had a serious gambling problem and my mom was initially vehemently opposed to that casino opening (not because she's still with him -- she's not -- but having lived with someone with a gambling addiction she's not into casinos at all). We all stood around like we were in a foreign country trying to decide what to do with the $3.75 I'd split between the three of us to put in the slot machines. I'd have blown more money there (I consider it a donation/reparations . . . AND mindless fun) but neither my mom nor Delia were interested once we lost the $21 we won.
We don't have any special plans for tonight. Tomorrow and Monday (President's Day) we've got webcam shows and chat scheduled so I think we'll just do a little work and relax this evening. Delia picked up a chile-flavored dark chocolate bar for us to share.
You always hope for good weather when you're shooting outside. Actually, you basically COUNT on having PERFECT weather. "Good" weather doesn't always cut it. Like today, when I wanted it to be gloomy, but not actually rain or snow. Instead it's sunny. Bright blue. Too loud.
Delia's getting ready for me to shoot her but the light is just not right at all.
I could have a spycam on me right now in our motel room while I blog this but I don't want to.
Sometimes it makes me nervous when I communicate shoot ideas/plans to people because I'm afraid they'll get their hopes up for something really creative and amazing based on how much work and planning we seem to be putting in it. And of course it never winds up being THAT great / is still pretty generic. At best everything is still sort of a rough draft of a good idea. Shows potential. Meets or exceeds a sort of bland standard of certain amateur porn things. We'd have to shoot a lot less to do a lot better or have a lot more resources and people working for us or stay up all day and night. People sweetly encourage me, "just shoot less! Shoot what *you* want!" but I don't think you can make money that way. The better and higher quality your work is, the less there is of it and the easier it is for people to "steal" and pass around. Have you noticed that on the internet? The more beautiful something is, the more people feel they have a collective right to enjoy it for free and share it with each other. This is great! Everyone should know about it! It's an extremely flattering compliment that can wind up starving you to death.
I could pull out a lot of things we do and present them in a different way to make them seem better than they are, but I can't seem to find time for that. And again, I'm still proud of mediocrity and just having potential. It's a very good thing to make pictures that make people happy every week, are genuine, straightforward, show promise, suggest a certain mood. I think I'm good at that: being suggestive.
I have a hard time accepting compliments that make our work seem better than it is. I also can't help feeling defensive towards people who think what we do is easy or that they have solutions to challenges I complain about, solutions they are sure would work and certain have never crossed my mind or been attempted or dismissed because they wouldn't work for a variety of reasons.
I remember standing outside our local movie theater listening to some blow-hards talking about what THEY would do if THEY owned the local theaters. Why don't they do X and Y? It would be simple . . . if I owned it, X would be the first thing I'd do. I hate those people even though I do exactly the same thing. Maybe that's why I hate those people; because I can't resist being a stupid know-it-all either, even when I know I don't. It's people's way of being part of the conversation when they really are in no position to comment at all. I just really hate being the subject of other people's imaginary business-plan hobby-thoughts myself, but I guess I encourage it to a certain extent. Love it up to a certain point. I want people to think of the growth of our business as a serial novel, something they want to keep reading about and hope will end well and spawn many sequels. I just don't want them to tell me how to write it. But with some people you can't have one without the other. I don't blame them since I can't resist doing the same thing sometimes. And some of them really mean well. They really do.
Have you ever thought about X? I would totally read that! I'm sure it would make you rich! You know, I saw you on cam for ten minutes last week and I really think what your problem is . . . Hey, I'll bet if you did more of Z a lot more people would jack off to you! Z is totally where it's at.
Every time we go away from home to shoot I go through a little process. First I'm anxious that we'll forget to pack something, that things won't go as planned, that we won't get enough work done. Then I realize everything is going to be fine, and if it isn't, I might as well enjoy the time away as time off, well-deserved. Then I get a fresh perspective since I'm away from home/work and a million distractions and have a little flexibility to think clearly. About what I want. About what I REALLY WANT TO DO. If I could only do one thing.
I'm at the point where I know what that one thing is, even when I'm at home and not away. But I'm not at the point of wanting or being able to give all my other work up in favor of that one thing and don't know if I ever will be. I still cling to the notion that it might be possible to do it all. Or that I should do other things first in order to make doing the one thing easier, foremost and full-time, without having to give a fuck what anybody else thinks of it.
If I could be good at any one thing -- if I were to invest 10,000 hours of practice in attempting to master it -- I know exactly what the one thing would be. I used to think forty-five would be too old to start being good at something, but now I think it would be perfect. Even fifty would be fine. Which means I don't really need to start practicing right now to be completely satisfied with myself in fifteen years. I'm comforted by this thought.
After the gloomy pictures and tone of this post I'm overdue posting something cheerful that reflects how I'm feeling A BILLION TIMES BETTER, so here are some happy pictures from a recent members-only gallery and an update on what's going on in my body and head.
It's hard for me to describe how profoundly different/healed I felt within a week of starting to treat my hormone problems. I can only compare it to what born again Christians feel like. Seriously. Only I feel like I just established a close personal relationship with NORMALCY rather than with Jesus. And now I am wondering how the fuck I was even getting out of bed at all, because I was really REALLY sick.
A lot of stuff that I was experiencing I couldn't even verbalize without sounding totally crazy and was effecting me on every level you can possibly think of: mentally, spiritually, physically, socially, sexually, etc. My muscles, joints, head, eyes, guts, boobs, feet, jaw, ears HURT and weren't working right. Pretty much everything was causing me pain and fatigue, from the sound of people's voices to the loud conversations being held in my head to the TORTURE of dropping something and having to go through the agonizing, soul-sucking motion of bending over to pick it up. I thought I was being a hypochondriac to worry that I had lupus or something horrifying going on. All I wanted to do was work and be happy and do the millions of things I want to do, so I tried to exercise more, to cut back on things that were especially tiring (which got to the point of being EVERYTHING except the bare minimum -- I haven't been seeing my family, friends, or doing anything except trying to survive). The slightest annoyances were sending me into paroxysms of mean-spirited anguish. If you think I was complaining a lot about headaches and stuff, you don't know the tenth of it. I actually didn't even want to recognize how incredibly bad it was.
But then last week I started to feel INCREDIBLY GOOD. Like I looked in the mirror and didn't see death warmed over staring back at me -- oh yeah, THAT'S what I look like without a sickly pallor and giant, deep, dark circles rimming my eyes! Like, getting out of bed in the morning IS EASY and something to celebrate instead of something that caused me physical pain. I'm not exaggerating, I had been feeling PAIN reverberating through every fiber of my being. I thought it was just me being not-a-morning-person, "sensitive", etc. but as it turns out? FUCK NO. The first three days of feeling awesome last week are my new standard for how I should feel 99% of the time and I'm not going to accept anything less ever again.
Here are the supplements I started taking:
*Evening Primrose Oil *iodine *birth control (chick hormones) *omega oils *potassium (in grapefruit juice, etc.) *awesome Vitamin B complex *digestive enzymes
and changes I made:
*maintaining a stable blood sugar level (not letting myself get hungry, eating way less simple carbs/sugars) *continuing to use tools & learn more for anger management, concentration, calm, etc. *exercising consistently *continuing to make 8-9 hours of sleep per night my goal
A lot of these are things I've done before that yielded positive results, but I never did them consistently or all at the same time or appreciated the importance of spending the money to stay stocked up on all of the vitamins or understood the big picture of how they were helping me. I still don't have a thorough grasp of that, but getting as totally fucked up as I was forced me to do a lot of research and over the years a lot of people and circumstances have handed me clues. Like not being able to get pregnant and slowly finding out a whole bunch of possible reasons why not. Like having people tell me over and over and over again to have my thyroid tested. Like having almost no stressors in my life and often doing everything right and trying my fucking hardest and still feeling WORSE instead of better. Like having some really great health care providers in my life and then having to deal with one who was really bad. Like THE INTERNET being an imperfect but still fucking fabulous resources. Like having a trans partner and thinking more about hormones, identity, and the nuances of gender. Like having people tell me I have too much testosterone. Like having my hair stylist tell me I had an unnatural amount of HAIR FALLING OUT OF MY HEAD (ahhh, so it WASN'T my imagination that was noticing my part widening in pictures and on the webcam I have staring down at the top of my head).
I really am sorry for how impatient I've been, how easily agitated I've been, and for how little time I've had for people and issues and projects I care about. Mostly I'm sad that Delia had to live with someone so unpredictable and "touchy". But I'm really happy for us now that we are both getting ourselves sorted out.
I think this year (or at least the next six months) are going to be a time of simply catching up on time I/we've lost personally and financially/professionally. I know I've made a lot of posts in the past couple of years about ways I was reorganizing and reprioritizing things, and while many of them were necessary, very few of them were productive or successful because of what I now realize was a significant health problem. I am going to be patient with myself and try to enjoy simply feel good. REALLY good.
I'm not saying my life has been nonstop misery because that's not true at all -- hormones are shifty fuckers so there've been lots of highs and lows and near-normalcy, but I've likely been suffering from this for most of my post-adolescent life to one degree or another judging from how rarely I ovulated on time or at all; most people would say "judging from how rarely my period was on time", but I now refuse to refer to on-time periods as the sensible indicator of health when it totally ignores that timely menstruation is reliant on timely ovulation. It's not that I think ovulation is some holy fucking grail or that every woman should strive for FERTILITY, I just think there's so much MISSING from (and deceptive about) our language for talking about how our bodies function and how to identify problems and heal them. And you know how women who understand their clits and their g-spots and the rest of their bodies and how they work and where those parts live CAN MAKE THEM OPERATE BETTER and experience more pleasure? I don't think the rest of our anatomy and functionality is any different. If I understand that high blood sugar and cortisol and stress and testosterone and estrogen suppression and ovulation and concentration and happiness are all linked up and I can visualize those things and better know how to achieve stability there, then I am going to be a happier, better-functioning person.
Personally I'm excited about the discoveries I'm making about myself and feel so fired up about so many things I'm back to my "normal" scatterbrained whirlwind of divided attention (and haven't been taking Ritalin since I started my little regimen above). I'm also really angry and thinking a lot about how most health care providers are totally incompetent and uncaring when it comes to endocrinology (unless it has to do with diabetes) and SUPER COMMON hormone problems. I believe to my core that misogyny is the root of the ignorance and lack of care; people believe and want women to age a certain way, to become dried-up shrews. They believe we'll complain about anything and are still mostly just hysterical, crazy bitches and that our problems are all psychological. Everyone thinks it's so "advanced" to treat depression and anxiety as real stand-alone illnesses now that we can throw fucked-up, addictive drugs at when so much depression and anxiety and other mental illness are probably caused by hormonal problems that don't always originate with (or aren't limited to) poor brain chemistry or treated best just by addressing them. I'm certainly not suggesting we all go Tom-Cruise-Vitamin-Crazy, I'm just saying that health care professionals aren't even bothering to test for or treat underlying hormone imbalances, and most people like it that way. It makes a lot of women sicker, not healthier. Just to give you an example, this doctor I went to was ready to put me on anti-depressants, didn't believe me when I told her I knew the birth control itself would help a lot, and refused to test my thyroid (the most common "thyroid" test done is for TSH -- thyroid stimulating hormone -- and it doesn't really test your thyroid gland, it tests your pituitary gland AND the results are months old by the time it reaches your blood). You have to wonder how this woman thinks that anti-depressants are going to cure me of hair loss, weight gain, constipation, lethargy, etc. when you know it will make most of those symptoms WORSE. To her I was just a crazy, miserable bitch demanding a "complicated" explanation for what seemed obvious to her: THAT I'M SIMPLY A CRAZY MISERABLE BITCH.
If we removed the stigma and value judgment from the statement "she's got hormone problems" we'd lose one of our most precious and reliable punch lines. So many women would feel so much better the world would be turned upside-fucking down. It probably wouldn't be very good for the sex industry, I imagine, if more middle-aged women felt like a million bucks. Or maybe it would . . . . My sister, a nurse, said she thinks endocrinology is too nuanced for traditional western medicine to deal with and that it's not a "sexy" field like surgery. I think it's the opposite. It's the sexiest field of all. It IS the source of what we think of as sex and gender and for us to really understand it and the role it plays in our lives and how it is the foundation for so much of our identities would pose such a threat to the status quo and to the people we rely upon to make the rest of us feel normal by comparison that it's just a giant taboo. In generations to come I think it's transgender and people who defy gender stereotypes and limitations who will force the medical community and other people to understand endocrinology a whole lot better and how hormones can be manipulated to help us lead our best, most authentic and healthiest lives.
Anyway, long post short, I was feeling pretty bad. And now I feel really great. And that makes me really happy. I'm fueling up now for good things to come.
One of the reasons I love reading Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer books is the food porn. Big boned babes and greasy spoons abound. Example from The Big Kill:
. . . .I went down the corridor to where a bunch of typewriters were banging out a madhouse symphony and asked one of the stenos where I could find Ellen Scobie. She told me that she had gone out to lunch at noon . . . . It took me about ten minutes to make the four blocks and there was Ellen in the back looking more luscious than the oversize T-bone steak she was gnawing on.
I've always wanted to shoot gluttonously sensual softcore porn, but never want to compromise my enjoyment of a good guilt-laden meal to do it. Pictures like these do inspire me, though (click images for sources):
I decided to experiment with having auburn hair & a tiny bit of blonde foiled into my brunette. It's not really as bright as it looks in the picture, but it's still remarkably different from what I usually ask for. Brunette still trumps all, though, so I'll be going darker/less red again next time around though I'll definitely trust my new hair girl to do whatever she thinks is best (which she says is another foil adding in low lights of mahogany).
I do think the auburn suits me a lot better than blonde ever did and looks better with my skin, but it still doesn't feel like "me" the way dark brown does or even blonde did at times or the way I imagine silver/grey will in the future.
In other boring facelift blabbering, I shaved off my armpit hair and the pubes on my thighs and labia, and I'm in the process of picking out some new eyeglass frames; it's tough, because there are a lot of them I like and I would love to wear glasses more often (the ones I have now are an old prescription so I don't see perfectly with them). To make choosing easier, I'm fairly limited in options because of the strength/thickness of my lenses. No wire frames, squared-off or open-bottomed styles for near-sighted, astigmatic Trixie.
That's all I have time to blog about right now; I've got period cramps and a lot of stuff to do (editing photos and videos we shot this week and building promos that NEED to be done asap) before the weekend when we have shows and chat scheduled. I'd also really like to take some time out to go see a movie.
We lost power at our house for a couple of seconds today because of the wind; it almost seems freakier when the sun's out and it's blowing than if the skies were dark and ominous. Blue skies + windstorms = the pink goth of weather.
Though we live northwest of/near Seattle, the weather is totally different here with a lot less rain. We're lucky to have big windows facing south so in January and February we can sunbathe naked. Inside, unless you have fur:
I took these pictures in our backyard after going to the store where the power was out. According to the locals I heard talking, part of town was out of electricity because a transformer blew, a tree fell/knocked down lines, AND someone crashed a car into a pole. Our wind is a force to be reckoned with!
Next month we're planning to spend some time shooting closer to my hometown, in the area where (some of) Twin Peaks was filmed. I really wanted to commission someone to sew a waitress costume to mimic the ones they wore at the diner in the series, but I messed up the specs on the auction I created and didn't want to pay for something four months in advance of a time that would be too late for the look/time of year I wanted. Maybe next year. For now we'll try to capture a little of the vibe/local color without being crazily ambitious. Someday I would love to have the resources to get a bunch of our friends and fellow-Peaks-fans together for a couple of weeks to shoot some tribute porn. Someday.
My mom passed her DNA for knockers down to me and also taught my sister and I how to deal with the problem of having one nipple/areolar complex erect and bumpy with the other one soft:
One time as we were about to leave a public restroom my mom noticed she had one stiff nipple and paused before exiting to stimulate the other one over her shirt so they would match. She did try to get bras and shirts that would prevent them from being super obvious, but when those failed to do the trick (you'd need armor to guarantee 100% no-poke-through) she felt compelled to make both of them stick out if one was being stubborn anyway. Nipples do get hard sometimes when you pee so . . . yeah. I hadn't just peed in the photo above, but I'd given one boob more attention and didn't realize how obvious it would wind up being in the picture. Clearly I am not as conscious of these things as my mom is. Or maybe I'm just not as sensitive? Hmmm . . . well, there's some suggestive kinkiness for the portion of my audience with a special interest in big boobs, nipples, and . . . other things.
I would love to stay up and finish editing this set of photos for members, but it will be better if I get back in bed and disconnect. PMS is in full effect and I woke up an hour too soon. I got a late start this week when I got a headache Monday and spent Tuesday recovering and trying to prevent more headaching. Now the hormones are kicking my ass and making me act/feel like a monster so I'm going to call the amount of work I did today "good" and say goodnight. Tomorrow members can see the rest of the curves and long socks and a sparkly dildo and furry beaver and underarms (not to be hairy much longer, though I'm sure I'll grow it back out again in the future, but that's why we shot this set in black and white: to really show off my bush).
I started taking piano lessons when I was about nine years old. My teacher, Joan, didn't believe in using metronomes and always had long, fancy nails even though pianists aren't supposed to. At some point during the first year of lessons, she told me that music is really all about MATH.
No math = no music. A huge revelation for me as a kid. It's a big truth that's never left me. At first my feelings about it were a little conflicted; it was sort of stressful ("I'm so bad at fractions!"), but realizing that math is the foundation of music (or at least one doorway into building and understanding it) never sucked the romance or beauty out of it. It never made it dry to me. It can be invisible enough that you don't actually NEED to know it or think about it for it to be in there. That lesson primed me to notice as years went by that math and science are built into nature and art and our insides. That the basics of them are intuitive, like rhythm, but the more you know about the math and science of something, the better your music or art or appreciation of those things can be.
Knowing that art is really science has been a solace to me -- art isn't reserved only for a few people who are divinely inspired. It can be orderly: accessed and created systematically. With simple formulas. With a wide variety of tools mixed with individual perspective, personality and tastes to make it seem unique and magical, disguising the numbers in the craft of it.
I shot a set of pictures of Delia wearing some hot Hello Kitty shorts on Friday night and the photos are all jacked up. I'm a long way from understanding the science of photography; I *like* numbers, but they don't stick in my head very well so even though I've read about how cameras work and how OUR camera works I still don't have it committed to memory or know how to manipulate light and settings quickly to achieve what I want. I have to just walk around and fiddle with things until I mostly-accidentally happen onto something lovely. Most of the good pictures I take are the product of luck and shooting A LOT without fully comprehending what I'm doing. I recognize what looks good and beautiful and erotic to me (or at least halfway decent) and what looks bad to me and have a few basic practices for making the former (especially in the "halfway decent" category) and avoiding the latter, but my technical skills are pretty basic.
All of the pics looked dark to me so I bumped the ISO up to 1000 or 2500, I forget now (hence the graininess) and the speed down to 25 or 30 -- they still looked dark for some reason; I was letting the camera auto-focus (selecting the area to focus on myself with these little movable box thingies; I forget what Nikon calls that function but it didn't seem to be working well on this particular night) and adjust the aperture itself until I decided to do a closeup and switched everything to manual (because it balks when we ask it to autofocus macros); suddenly everything was WAY TOO BRIGHT and I had to change the shutter speed. The only thing I can think of is that the camera wasn't doing a good job of automatically adjusting the aperture and when I switched to manual and adjusted it myself then everything changed. It sucked because we wanted these pics to be bright.
The older I get, the more I see that MOST working artists -- writers, photographers, graphic designers, sculptors, painters, musicians, etc. -- are just people who've chosen to do that kind of work. That the only thing that sets them apart from the rest of us is the amount of time they put into their art and confidence they have in devoting themselves to it without worrying whether or not a jury of peers think they deserve to make money on it. Very few artists are people who actually possess something innate that the rest of us don't have; most of it is taking the time to learn and apply information that's available to everyone (or anyone with the resources to do a little research) and then investing money in the right tools and lots of time in practicing. Sometimes I think the most successful artists are the ones who are actually LESS gifted and too stupid/overconfident to recognize that there are other people (usually making zero dollars on their art) who are WAY more talented. Maybe the only way to be a successful "artist" is to NOT be great -- to not complicate shit with too much vision, originality, or diverse techniques and just work from simple formulas to make things that are easily recognizable and accessible to the masses. See also Adaptation. If your work brings other people pleasure does it really NEED to be super duper excellent?
The older I get, the happier I am with shooting for mediocrity. Even mediocrity requires a lot of hard work (for me, at least). Mediocrity is attainable without being a given; you can stand out and make a decent living in a field simply by being one of the relative few to 1) choose that field, 2) commit to it for a number of years, and 3) make yourself known. All the better if you're willing to take emotional and financial risks and make sacrifices for your work/"art". The happier you are with mediocrity the wider your success. I've slowly shifted my focus of "pride" away from "talent" and pinned it on "work"; you can't be proud of having good taste or being born with certain attributes making you better suited than most to doing one job or another. Those are only things you can be THANKFUL for. The things you can actually be PROUD of are hard work, dedication and defying convention to choose happiness. To call yourself an artist as soon as you choose to be one -- to make it your job -- rather than waiting until you imagine other people think you are good enough to deserve that label. Those are the people I admire more and more, the ones who are brave & devoted enough to create some form of art (even if it's just fair to middlin') and are savvy enough to make it a business.
I used to think having to work hard at something or take a lot of time to make something acceptable was something to be ashamed and embarrassed of. If it wasn't easy it meant I wasn't good at it. Now I realize that's total bullshit (even if I still FEEL that way sometimes). The strategic choices and commitments you make to invest work in things that make you happy, better, more skilled, or even just capable of seeing you should make a different choice (I've always believed that quitting is something to be proud of; that whole "quitters never win" line is such a crock of shit). The time you spend allowing yourself to suck ass -- IMMERSING yourself in sucking ass and slowly filling in the void of your ignorance with knowledge -- just so you can become mediocre at something you love and then keep working to try to improve upon that. Beyond mediocrity there are so few people who are actually able to recognize the difference between mediocrity and greatness, there's no reason to beat yourself up if you're not capable of becoming that elite.
Being a "jack of all trades, master of none" ROCKS. It's fun, it's challenging, and I don't love any one thing enough to give up all the other stuff. So I really have to be satisfied with mediocrity, slow progress, and making balanced choices to devoting little bits of time here and there to different things I love. Like making flash cards to learn photography stuff. You're never too old for flash cards. I'm not, anyway.
I am mediocre at so many things, and have managed to balance (with great mediocrity) such a gigantic shitload of different kinds of work that I deserve to be quite proud of myself and my extraordinary mediocrity. I feel so blessed to be in a position to dabble so widely. Lucky lucky lucky, and proud of myself for creating a notable percentage that luck by my choices. For recognizing my luck and exploiting it to the best of my limited ability.
Some of us are able to do our work just because we're lucky enough to have the resources to buy tools, to live in an environment filled with inspiration and/or to be close to people who make beautiful subjects and do most of the art/work for you.
I love arranging forkfuls of food. Ones where I have the perfect ratio of one thing to the other(s). Mashed potatoes to gravy to meat. Raisins to flakes. Heavens to Betsy. It doesn't have to be fancy, the formula just has to be right. Everything pleasingly arranged in relation to each other. I will never be a good cook because I don't want to practice how to be; that's Delia's thing. It's my job just to love eating, every day, tasting and swallowing over and over and saying thank you, honey.. And to figure out how to arrange camera settings like food on a fork, adjusting hole-sizes, timing mechanisms, and digitally tweaking things in perfect relation to the kind of light shining on my girlfriend.
Bloggers and webwhores around the world are making "year in review" posts right now. I'm not very good at instantly recalling and ranking The Most Important Things That Happened Last Year (seriously, I'm not even capable of ordering food in a drive-through -- something every other moron in America is MORE than competent at). I do feel really excited about 2009, though. It's like the past four months have been a slow, gradual process of skill-building, cleaning-up, clarifying and prioritizing to prepare for a great new year/rest-of-my-life.
Before I sum up my too-personal stuff, here's a picture of me from way back in February of 2002, before my members-only area opened, right around the time I met "my houseboy" before she became Delia:
And photos from a couple of my favorite shoots this year:
Probably the most important thing that happened in 2008 was we both started going to twelve step meetings. If I just said, "the most important thing that happened in 2008 was Delia stopped drinking" it might make more sense to people, but that really isn't the most important thing that happened. The most important thing for me (and equally important for our relationship) is that when she stopped drinking this time AND started going to meetings, I had to start getting my OWN shit together instead of thinking things were just hard because of her alcoholism. I sort of thought everything was perfect before EXCEPT for her drinking, but the month after she stopped? It totally wasn't perfect, because I had a complete meltdown. Obviously I know *I* am not perfect and I know a lot of the ways I'm an asshole (and will continue to be no matter how hard I sometimes try to stop being), but I really didn't have a plan or consistently work towards or ask for any help being a better, happier, healthier, nicer person. Working and worrying about other people (what they're THINKING, what they're DOING, what they EXPECT from me, how I think they're so fucking WRONG/fucked up, etc.) were my top priorities. I didn't really accept that me being a crazy asshole was/is my absolute biggest problem.
They seem like a simple concepts to apply to life -- just worry about your OWN shit, don't try to control anyone/thing except yourself -- but no matter how much I know those things on a rational level, applying them on a daily basis is a struggle and going to meetings helps me with that in a way nothing else ever has before.
Getting back on Ritalin has helped a lot, too. Another thing that's helping is making exercising a priority -- on December 5th I moved "exercising" to the top of my to-do list. I've exercised 21 days out of the past 29 (walking, dancing, stretching, DDRing, pilates, etc.). I need to keep reminding myself that my health is a bigger priority than work -- that taking care of myself IS my job and the foundation of doing everything else better. And being less of a crazy asshole.
This year when I filed our 2007 taxes (late, in October) I also had to face that we didn't meet our money goals in 2008; like, our sales were almost exactly the same as in 2007 when my goal was to double it (not as insane as it sounds, especially given our growth rate in years past). It's not that I'm not thankful -- I know that lots of people made LESS money in 2008 than 2007 -- but there's really no excuse for us not to be making more money. Yes, it's hard. But it's at the point now where we really NEED to, and that challenge/brink-of-disaster is good for me because it focuses me. I've been pushing everything to the sidelines that is not an efficient way of meeting our sales goals and promising myself not to pick those things up again until our goals are met and I can *justify* doing all those extra things and have the *resources* to do them well.
We also tried harder in 2008 to take days off. We didn't succeed in doing that consistently/regularly, so I should make that a resolution for this year. In general 2008 taught me that I can do more work better by not trying to do so MUCH of it and by working on improving myself.
In between meetings, exercise, Ritalin, fewer goals in my field of vision/better priorities, I felt really good about taking down the 2008 calendar and hanging up 2009. Everything feels like it's falling into place and I feel more patient about the time that's taking than I ever have before, and massively excited about the way Delia's and my relationship with each other is evolving and deepening -- our need to spend non-work time with each other and making/hearing music, fucking, laughing, kissing, talking, cleaning house, playing games, etc. is another huge motivator to push other stuff off the table so we can just ENJOY each other.
I am still going to be an asshole in 2009, but I will be a healthier asshole with a more flexible pucker. I know I won't STOP blowing hot, rank air but I will concentrate on cooling it down and remind myself to focus on cleaning myself up from the inside out to reduce my stench. I will be a more kissable asshole in 2009, and if all goes well perhaps I will be wiping myself with money by the time 2010 rolls around.
Late last night we fucked while I fondled my new toys: Delia's growing boobs. I dare you to not be jealous of me for getting to play with emerging, swollen boobies while getting fucked by your girlfriend's she-cock. Some people might call it convenient. I call it "barely legal". And myself? I call myself "lucky" because right now she's making us a Christmas meatloaf. Food and fucking -- what more could you ask for on Christmas? Simultaneous orgasms? Well we had those, too.
I love taking pictures of this bird feeder in our backyard at different times of day/year (no, we don't put bird food in it; it's a relic left behind by past owners):
Happy holidays to everybody -- here's to celebrating in as many safe, happy, and (mostly) healthy ways as possible with big loads of hot gravy on top!
These pictures of me in a blonde wig outside in the snow with a blue sky turned out almost exactly how I wanted them to be:
I'll be posting the full gallery of over one hundred pics for our members next week.
Tonight it's my turn to be the photographer shooting a Christmas gallery and video of Delia. We're off to a late start due to the severe winter storm warning we're under here in western Washington; it just started snowing again and is supposed to keep going for the next five days. In our town we're being hit by stuff coming in from the west AND the south, so it might get really windy. Don't be surprised if our voyeur cams go down and you don't hear from us for a time -- it will just mean we lost one or both of our internet connections and/or power.
The streets are already coated with ice so Delia made sure we went to the store to stock up on everything we'll need if we can't get out for a week. Of course we'll still be able to walk, but I got a blister on the bottom of my foot a couple of days ago when we had to go downtown and thought it safer to walk than drive; my Payless snow boots are cheap and don't fit me well so I don't want to have to trudge for miles to lug home heavy groceries.
We're staying home alone for Christmas; I'll miss seeing our nephew, but I think it's better for us and our whole family if we're not on the road. Actually, I'm really missing Delia's family right now; I love spending Christmas at her parent's house. It's the only place I've been in the past six years where I don't feel compelled to work. I plow through books, I masturbate in bed, we come down with colds and flu, and somehow it's just a huge, relaxing vacation (for me, at least -- unfortunately, Delia isn't as aroused by our bedroom being located right next door to her parents as I am).
I've never been a big fan of snow, but now that I work at home it's growing on me since I don't have to drive in it. Living in the Seattle area we don't get a lot of snow so it's always cause for excitement around here. It doesn't usually last long, either, so I'm really happy we had a chance to go out and shoot in it.
The window of opportunity for snowy, seasonal pics is actually still open; it's been snowing most of today. Here's a shot of our dog from one of our spycams a few hours ago:
Anyway, the rest of the photos are up for my members and we've got two outdoor spycams running today; we're going to walk downtown through the snow now to run some errands.
Let me toss some tgirl-on-tgirl porn at you before I get all personal and diary-ish(click for free pics & sample vid):
This is my favorite photo in the samples and in general that whole shoot was really hot to watch, plus I love that the resulting porn is both explicit and very sensual. I need to work on my skills as a photographer shooting people other than Delia, though. With Mandy and AmberLily I didn't do a good job of stopping them and asking them to hold "poses", so as a result there were lots of blurry and awkward shots -- good ones, too, but could've been better. We're still getting used to our new camera which is FAST, but since we don't shoot with a flash or a lot of light we still have to MODEL semi-slowly even though it's tempting when you hear the shutter flying along to dance fluidly along.
Life is good -- there are lots of things going on with me which are mostly connected with making a concerted effort to have LESS things going on and focus on a few high priority things. Right now my personal priorities are:
-exercising consistently (today will be five days in a row) -eating less sugar and starches -going to twelve step meetings & getting healthier emotionally and spiritually -cutting back on a few things to make room for a) making money more efficiently and b) doing more things that I love
The past couple of years my body has become more and more of a challenge for me to feel good about, mostly because I never got into the habit of taking care of it except for getting enough sleep. With the added pressure (and wake-up-calls) of trying to get pregnant but not being able to, it's gotten to the point where I feel really shitty with a litany of symptoms and complaints and hypochondriac fantasies. Long story short, I need to put myself and my health first before everything (and everybody) else.
A lot of times I sacrifice my own needs and desires to work which really is stupid because I can't *do* this kind of work very well when my body feels like shit and I don't provide myself with pleasure on all levels. I can barely stand to look at myself which is, ummm, pretty counterproductive for shooting porn (and editing/posting/selling it myself where I have to look at myself and love myself to do a good job). It's not that everything looks shitty, but seriously -- it's not only difficult for me to bend over to tie my shoes these days, it's PHYSICALLY PAINFUL. My guts fucking hurt.
Before people rush to simple judgments like, "duh! That's what happens when you sit on your ass all day", etc. let me offer a little perspective and extend some leniency to myself; there are definitely some hormonal problems contributing to my issues (all of the thyroid / infertility / depression / migraine / too-much-testosterone stuff and more all connected in a which-came-first/chicken-egg circle of insanity) plus the stuff we've been going through with alcoholism that no one has really been aware of or how it's been effecting us; *I* haven't even been aware of how much of my energy was going into trying to cope with it.
One of the unexpected bonuses of Delia getting sober is that I got to enter recovery too. Only I totally didn't anticipate how hard it would be or that I would totally fucking freak out (which I did, surprisingly, really fall-the-fuck apart the first month and couldn't really understand why when I thought I would just feel relieved and everything would be bliss and perfection). Now that Delia is sober and I'm not constantly thinking about her and trying to control her drinking, I'm left with the way bigger, scarier challenge and problem of mySELF and my own fucked-upedness. Patterns of behavior and sickness that I had before Delia and I ever even met.
I feel really optimistic, excited and fortunate right now, but I also feel like I need a lot of space and time and patience to get healthy in more ways than one. It takes more than a week or a month or three months or a year to feel relief, to figure out what to change (and what IS changing whether you want it to or not), to adapt, and to grow into new ways of doing things. I'm kind of tired and have a lot of stuff to process and let go of so just mending my body, our relationship and going to meetings right now is enough to keep me very occupied. I'd say that I'm sorry I don't have more left over to spread around and to keep doing all the things I was trying to do, but I'm not sorry. I'm happy to be focused on what's important.
Note: I'm leaving comments open for people who want to remark on the Delia & Mandy shoot or those who have their own personal sharing/relating on the subjects I talked about, but I usually do not feel helped by comments containing unsolicited advice, analysis of me/us/our lives and/or criticism even when I know they're well-intentioned.
We're celebrating Thanksgiving late today; my sister, nephew and brother-in-law drove to our house last night and Delia's cooking the turkey right now. The same turkey that's been in our freezer for more than a year since we had to cancel dinner last year after my mom broke her wrist and had to get surgery mere days before the feast.
As a teenager I really resented seeing the women stuck in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. It seemed completely unfair to me, the way they slaved away while the men sat on their asses thinking up ways to make the day unpleasant and contentious. It's kind of funny(?) that now I make basically no effort to help Delia prepare meals. And this is actually the SECOND turkey she's cooked and stuffed in the past month since she made one for a big potluck a few weeks ago. Maybe as a kid I thought I was feeling sorry for the women in my family when really I was just feeling sorry for myself because I had no desire to grow up and be stuck in that role, stuck in the kitchen. At the time it didn't occur to me to visualize what I WANTED, which was to grow up and have some OTHER woman (or some man) stuck in MY kitchen, cooking her little ass off while I come in just to rub my hands greedily and condescendingly tell her how GOOD it smells, and when will it be ready, honey?
My mom isn't coming to today's gathering, either, which is a good thing; I have an insanely bad case of PMS and our whole family gets exhausted when all of us are together. Someday I hope we'll all live closer together so it's not such a long-lasting, closely-packed, unable-to-escape-each-other ordeal but right now? That's how it winds up and it's too much of an energy-sucking drag for all of us to really be considered a celebration. The competition for control and attention between four strong personalities (mine, my mom's, my sister's and her two year old son's) is too constant. I've been encouraged to be more realistic in my expectations for family time, and in taking that advice I don't feel disappointed today that we're not all together at once; instead, I'm relieved.
Since our nephew is here a lot of our cams are down or cloaked so that he can run around freely. Also, one of the camsites where we broadcast has been down since yesterday; it's frustrating, but I'm trying not to worry about it today since there's nothing I can do about it and it wouldn't make much of a difference anyway with little Mr. Squishypants in the house.
I, my sister, and Delia stayed up way too late talking so I'm feeling really sleep-deprived right now and am going to try to get in a nap. I have a sick amount of anxiety when my nephew is here, worrying about all the ways he can get hurt, feeling like I need to watch everything he does in our child-unsafe house and around our dog. Even with all that watching, he's gotten hurt and while it is a consolation knowing none of those times have come even close to killing him -- kids HAVE to fall down, split their lips, bash their heads against sharp corners, etc. -- I still have a hard time letting go and it's much worse if I haven't gotten enough sleep.
Tonight's ending on a very positive note that could even be viewed as a metaphor for other things going on in our lives; we finally installed a second hard drive for storage on my main work machine so I'm moving big files off my weighted-down C drive. It feels like a fresh start! Right now I'm filling up some of that space by transferring non-work photos over to this machine so I can enjoy playing with shots we've taken for fun/to learn about our camera.
November 20th: a buck Delia spotted in our neighbor's backyard:
Our "new" camera (Nikon D300) has been therapeutic for me, making me stop and take time out to really LOOK and lose myself in details outside of myself. I'm not the kind of person who tries to capture EVERYTHING with a camera -- I definitely appreciate being in the moment with family, friends and on vacation -- but when we're at home (which is the same as being at work unless we make a really concerted effort for it not to be) doing the daily grind it's a big challenge for me to get out of my head. But now, when something mundane and beautiful captures my attention I feel justified in grabbing the camera, ostensibly to learn to take better photographs, and spending 5-20 minutes to really SEE and try to understand what I'm seeing: the light, the textures, the motion . . . challenging myself over what's real and not real because it can look so different viewed with my eyes compared to how it's captured by the camera. Immersing myself in all those different versions of truth and light and darkness and the stories we instantly create and details we insert after pulling them out of our asses when we think we're looking at our surroundings.
Looking out our window a few hours ago:
We actually bought three 500 GB hard drives months ago for three different machines and up until today, had only installed ONE of them because of little nuisances like not having Dell's annoying little drive "caddies", not having serial ATA cables with the 90 to 180 degree corner jobbies so the case will close properly, me despising crawling around on the floor fucking with all the cables and cords tangled around dust bunnies, etc. If you heard me screaming last night it was when I bashed my elbow into the corner of my desk during that process. Anyway, we finally took care of it and I ordered everything we need to install a couple more on other machines.
The past couple of days I had the alarm set for 8:30 in the morning to try to get us back into a groove of semi-normalcy; at least I *thought* I set the alarm for 8:30. Turns out I forgot to adjust the ipod when the time changed so we were actually being woken up at 7:30 which just didn't feel right. We'll try again tomorrow. Maybe I'll even start my day by going outside with the camera.
*Last night I enjoyed a conversation with my wanker in which I wasted lots of time raving about this Teddy Thompson fellow and a performance we saw on Later with Jools Holland. Here it is, and it slays me:
I've only downloaded one of his songs (a cover of "She Thinks I Still Care", one of my all-time faves) because there's no way I can narrow it down so I'm trying to hold out to be able to buy some of his albums, though I will probably download his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Tonight Will Be Fine":
If you follow my twitter you know I went to Seattle for FootNight on Thursday thanks to AmberLily giving me a heads-up about the event and encouraging me to apply with her to be a "foot model". It was a good opportunity to get out of my nerdy hermit bubble and enjoy having my feet fondled (something I've always enjoyed).
It was also a good excuse for me to get a pedicure: an expense and investment of time I rarely can justify since I don't specialize in foot fetish porn (though we do try to include at least a few shots of my feet in most of my galleries).
99.99% of the sexually stimulating work I've done has been on the internet or over the phone, starting out with private shows on iFriends in 2000. Even though I enjoy private shows and phone, I have almost no time to do one-on-one stuff anymore (especially since the camworld is so much different from when I started) but I *miss* it, so attending FootNight was a way to get back to that a little bit while also experiencing something new in a safe environment with an emphasis on something I love: feet.
The rules were very clear for the event (no nudity, foot worship only, no direct sexual contact, no leaving the party with customers and coming back in, etc.) and all of the women were dressed to attend a nice cocktail party or fine art fetish shoot: black turtleneck dresses, shiny black corsets, etc. In my estimation, I was the only one dressed in a way that said, "it's all for sale, boys! I'm a total hussy!" with my blouse buttons bursting, my skirt way too short and my boobs bouncing all over the place. I was also the most nervous person there, I think, next to many of the guests with my knees practically knocking trying to walk up and down the stairs in my unimpressively practical (but still challenging for me) heels and very unsophisticated sweat stains accumulating under my arms. The truth is that I don't have any classy party garb that's also sexy/leg-baring that I can still fit into.
Besides, I didn't want to go to great lengths to "fit in"; I figured it was better to stand out looking like a tramp than try to blend in. On top of that I love upskirts and panties and have much more of that kind of thing than feet on my site so I was excited by the idea of having men on the ground below me able to see right up my skirt to my hot pink and black panties. Even if it wasn't THEIR thing, it's MY thing; I don't get out much and planned to milk the tease for all it was worth.
I don't actually think I have great feet; the only thing I have going for me is that they're exceptionally small, but at the party there were A LOT of women with small feet. Maybe not quite as small as mine, but there were plenty of size five and six chicks there. All that small-foot competition gave me yet another reason to be glad I had a corner on the market for the super-slutty look.
So WAS there a market for it? Not so much, I don't think, but wearing something less conspicuously trashy wouldn't have made a difference. There were a couple of guys who expressed quite a bit of appreciation for the upskirt action, but as far as I know I didn't have guys waiting in line to spend time with me and my feet at $20 for ten minutes. I kept busy and had fun, but probably only gained one new die-hard fan for the future.
The first guy to give me money wasn't even there because he liked feet. He was there on a mission with a bottle of Scotch to try to get back into Lady Lydia's good graces. He told me he'd been rude to her on the phone so she'd stopped talking to him and all he could hope for is that she would accept his gift, if not his apology.
In the process of relating this to me, he reached into his pocket with defeated contrition, pulled out a twenty and assured me that he KNEW the ONLY reason we ladies were there was to make money. "I know it's all business and I don't want to waste your time." I told him that if he was going to pay me, we should at least retreat to a more private area (ie a different couch farther from the door) so I could make sure to give him the time that he paid for even if he didn't care about my feet or really anything besides Lady Lydia. He and I also agreed that our move and the open exchange of money for time would serve as a model early in the evening for the other guys to take similar steps to secure special attention from the "models".
After forty dollars worth of talking he felt compelled to resume his tortured quest to adequately humble himself to Lady Lydia. Even though it was the first face-to-face transaction I'd made like that, it felt very familiar . . . very natural to the point where I'm sure I'm forgetting a whole lifetime of doing exactly that: being the whore that men pay just to listen. Of course there've been a few other times I've gotten money from men face-to-face for certain things, but the circumstances were less formal and the terms not at all clearcut. No, I don't think I ever blogged about them even though they'd make interesting reading. Much of my limited experience with photographers felt exactly like sex work too, even though they took great pains not to call it that -- not to even call it porn -- and they didn't pay me with money; all factors that made it MORE compromising and awkward than work that's commonly labeled as sex work.
Anyway, Lydia's guy probably only wanted to spend twenty dollars on me out of obligation because I'd practically forced him to tell me his story simply by introducing myself, but my timer's battery wore out making it difficult for me to keep accurate time. I'm still not sure if my unreliable timer worked in my favor or against me; on the one hand I wound up giving people more time than they paid for before I realized the timer had no intention of beeping. On the other, they sometimes paid for more since I would discover this too late for them to turn down the next ten minutes since they were already in progress. We were advised by the party organizers to keep a discreet eye on the time but my timer was NOT discreet AT ALL; I pulled that fucker out at the beginning of every session and beeped in ten or eleven minutes in a very obvious way, nerdily assuring them this would help me NOT be distracted from the fun we could have by worrying about the time while they raised their eyebrows and mumbled that I certainly was . . . prepared. If it had actually worked and sounded an alarm at the end of those minutes, I'm sure it would have annoyed a great many people so maybe it was all for the best.
I felt busy the whole time I was there, but didn't really make enough for the trip to be worth what I put into it between the pedicure, ferry, gas, and time that I could have spent doing more lucrative things (like finishing the years-overdue redesign on my site and Delia's and this blog and . . .). Still, it was worth it to me because it was FUN, super-erotic (I'll elaborate on in another post) and a reminder of how good it feels to connect with customers individually.
It was also worth it to have BigD snap his suspenders at me, "work" with AmberLily to doubleteam a guy with our feet (again, I'll elaborate in another entry), and to meet Lydia (I only realized when I got home that she's the one Ron has told me so much about with so much admiration), Reyja (a fellow Emma Steel), and Mistress Matisse. We women didn't have much time to stand around chatting with each other, but after so many years of reading Matisse's blog and communicating online even the little bit we have via email and blog comments it felt to me like we were cousins at a reunion. You know how there are people that feel like they're in your life -- that you're related to in some way -- even though you only see each other face-to-face a couple times in your life and rarely interact? That's what it was like being in the same room with Matisse: totally uncommon but still irrationally familiar. In fact, that's what being with customers face-to-face is like. There wasn't anything weird or new about it that I didn't recognize as the same as a million other interactions I've had and kinds of work I've done which is probably what made it so hard for me to accept that I couldn't just climb on top of a couple of these guys and fuck them dry for a few dollars more. Not that any of them asked for that (everything was very above-board, no-pressure, polite, and legal), I'm just saying it's hard for me to accept the stigmas, restrictions, and separateness attached to sex work and all the little subtleties built into some of them so that they can avoid being labeled as such.
Here are some webcam grabs I took today followed by a less-attractive (but slightly more entertaining) video we shot a couple months ago when we were camping and getting our weeny roasting sticks ready:
These pics of me wearing shiny thigh-high boots are from a new set of photos I'm posting for my members soon:
My mom, sister and nephew spent a couple of nights with us so I haven't gotten much work done the past few days, but here are a few posts you might have missed with examples of my masturbation fodder. For those of you who are curious about what I get off on when I have a couple minutes to pursue such things, lately I head to Rude for the homemade masturbation videos guys upload there themselves (I know the ads are annoying, but I'm a member so I don't have to see them):
EXPOSED MEMBERS: As you can tell by the number of videos regular guys post online for free featuring themselves jacking off -- sometimes in the most humiliating of ways -- a lot of men are not only exhibitionists, but get off on the idea of being forced or coerced into exposing themselves in embarrassing ways, being laughed at, having their penises inspected, and being ordered to masturbate for onlookers. There's even a porn niche called "CFNM" (clothed female nude male) featuring men at the mercy of women who make them do these things for their entertainment.
CFNM is one of my favorite types of fetish scenarios because it revolves around the fantasy of women making men perform "against their will" with the balance of power being tipped in women's favor (pretty unusual in porn). I also love role plays with a lot of build-up, which most CFNM scenes have. There's a new site called CFNM Secret which is a fun attempt by one of the big corporate porn giants to exploit this market. I personally prefer Pure CFNM because they seem to "get it" more, but maybe CFNM Secret will appeal to a broader audience. I'm not so much into scenes where the chicks suck and fuck the guys, and I prefer for the men to look psychologically TORMENTED and completely aghast at being unable to control their own sexual response, but pretty much any CFNM scene turns me on way more than generic porn unless it's the bachelorette party scenario where they go wild for male strippers (yawn).
I understand why guys enjoy fantasizing about being male strippers, but as someone who's been to events where they've been hired, even when those dudes are outnumbered and getting paid they still act like they're in charge of us and what happens, and that pisses me off. I will never forget the fucker who came to a bachelorette party and overstayed his welcome for HOURS lecturing us on NAFTA while most of the girls tolerated and even encouraged it while I drunkenly got in his face telling him he was WAY out of line, to shut the fuck up and to leave. Fifteen years later, the memory of it STILL makes me mad. The only time I've seen a male stripper behave properly (submit to women and entertain them, rather than himself) was a black guy with a circus penis (down to his knee, NO JOKE) at a house party with mostly black women. He kept his mouth shut and performed without acting like he needed to intimidate us. He was eager to please and seemed to genuinely get off on being in a submissive position without demanding extra attention. We got to USE him and he seemed to know that was what he was there for.
As I write this I am fully aware that I would freak out if I saw a guy writing about female sex workers this way; I know I have a double standard on this (men who are hired to entertain women should KEEP THEIR YAPS SHUT), but there's still a double standard in the Americas with men doing most of the talking and controlling and women doing most of the submitting and listening. I can't help it that role plays reversing that power imbalance are a turn-on to me both sexually and emotionally. It's like therapy; I get a big charge out of it.
I don't know why I assumed my dad would be buried with his Masonic ring since I knew it was a family heirloom that had been passed down to him from his dad, so it was both a blessing AND a surprise when my aunt, mom and sister all agreed I should have it. Normally I keep it on my "altar" with other trinkets and items of greater and lesser power. Here it is (upside down; sorry):
I have no idea what the monetary value is of this ring (nothing extraordinary), but it was the fanciest piece of jewelry anyone had in my family and the only diamond I ever felt familiar with. It was ALWAYS present on my dad's hand and seemed imbued with secret, mystical powers.
It's totally against the rules for me to wear it since I'm not a Mason and not a man, but sometimes I do it anyway to have my dad present. I wore it on a chain to my sister's wedding, and sometimes I wear it on my finger when I want to have him near me. I've put it on at times when I needed to be reminded of the depth of his values, patience, kindness and boundless love for others. His vehement opposition to hatred and distaste for petty anger, mean-spirited criticism and silly conflicts. When I need a reminder to be a better person and my dad isn't here to do it for me, I put on his ring. I should do it more often.
I wear it pointed at me so I can look at it the way I saw it on his finger, pointed out because he was a past Master. I'm wearing it today because I know how excited and happy he would have been to vote for Obama. I know how he would celebrate the progress being made and be proud to be part of these positive steps forward in history. One of the things that bothered my dad about Masonry was the segregation (white lodges and black lodges) and the really ugly, racist history and associations a lot of Masonic groups and individuals have.
During my dad's life they'd at least gotten to the point where they recognized each other's lodges and visited each other, but it was still really . . . ummmm . . . old-fashioned. When my dad was still mobile he took to visiting a black lodge in Seattle regularly and petitioned for membership there -- the first white guy to do that (how welcome that idea was to the Prince Hall Masons I don't know; if they were opposed to it my dad was totally oblivious to that). It was our state's white Masons, though, who made up some bullshit to block him having a dual membership (I can't remember the details and only happened upon them when I was going through his papers; if I remember correctly they lied and said he wasn't a member in good standing with the state; of course there may have been a lot more to it behind the scenes that I don't know about). My dad just contented himself with his honorary membership and waved off my protestations as stupid politics when I asked him "what the fuck??"
My dad is the one I went with the first time I voted for a president. We were SO excited about Clinton and I was SO young and optimistic I really felt hope in the marrow of my bones. I was positively WIGGY with optimism! Like a lot of people, I've naturally lost that feeling as I've gotten older and seen how even the good guys, when they're ALLOWED to do their jobs, aren't really all for progress and the last two presidential elections have been enough to seal me permanently in cynicism. I'm not even sure I will be able to feel anything more exciting than RELIEF if/when Obama wins. Not relief that everything or even most things will get better, but just a small assurance that I'm not living in a country dominated by the hopelessly brainwashed and criminally selfish. Relief that we can at least be proud of doing SOMETHING right.
I wish my dad could be here for this because his enthusiasm wouldn't be tempered by my black-spirited pessimism. I really wish my whole family were together for this and there would be hugs all around and crying and hysterical joy that we would always remember sharing together. Maybe we can get together on Inauguration Day. But today, tonight, and tomorrow I'm wearing my dad's ring and inviting him to be present when Delia and I celebrate here at home together. I hope.
While I let bigger (and possibly better) blog entries stew, here are a couple of images that might fall into the "bigger" and "better" categories:
In my last post I mentioned experiencing some bumpy emotions as I struggled to adjust my priorities and let go and cut back, at least temporarily, some stuff; in the days since that post I've emotionally adjusted, too. I now feel very content and optimistic about my new focus and happy to release myself of certain self-imposed obligations.
I'm being annoyingly vague, I know, but I just want to share that I feel happy and hopeful about my person(al life), relationships, business . . . where I'm/we're at and where I'm/we're going. It feels boringly repetitive to blog about them ("hasn't Trixie said this a million times in the past seven years?"), but periodic realignments are necessary in life; sometimes the adjustment process is stressfully turbulent (even when the changes are positive, like when the person you love stops drinking or when you're forced to recognize -- AGAIN -- that you aren't superhuman after forgetting since the LAST time you were faced with that conclusion) but once you get used to it a whole new field of possibilities emerges and there's . . . relief. And joy. And after some rest? New good things. More awesome. Progress made. Love shared. Delicious sappiness.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that things are good here!
A couple of samples from the gallery I just posted for members:
I don't think I'd feel like I need to lose fifteen pounds if we could afford for me to specialize in long line girdles and corsets.
Speaking of what we can/can't afford, I know that I need to cut some obligations out in order to have time to really tweak and market our sites appropriately. For some reason I'm having a really difficult time deciding which things I need to stop doing, at least temporarily. I've been freaking out a lot and feeling anxious/overwhelmed. I don't think my priorities are set in a way that's effective and it's hard for me to rearrange them and then accept that the things at the bottom will have to be trimmed off. I am trying to do it all (and have been for too many years) and it's just not working. I'm sucking at everything and not really focusing my best efforts on the things I'm actually GOOD at and the things that make the most money.
It's hard for me to let go.
One of the things I realized this month (besides that we NEED to take days off) is that we will have to 1) limit the number of miles we drive/trips we take each month and/or in rapid succession and 2) make sure visiting family doesn't get sidelined in that equation in favor of work or friends. It's not because of fuel costs, it's because we live so far away from everyone that the HOURS spent in the car NOT working (except to fuck up my back/body) cost too much, plus it breaks my heart going for such long stretches without seeing my nephew. I also had a major meltdown awhile back with extreme guilt over neglecting to visit my grandma in over a year. Long story short, I'm stressed out and tossing ideas around in my head to reduce that stress.
Eventually I am going to have to learn how to forgive myself for not being able to do everything, and allow myself to succeed working from a shorter/different to-do list.
We just got back from spending a couple of nights in Portland where we did some shooting and saw Delia's doctor where she got new prescriptions for higher hormone doses. I started editing a set of photos to post in my members area tonight, but instead of finishing I'm going to call a time out and just giving you this sample:
I am now going to force us to take a couple of days off and promise ourselves to take two days off next week AND the week after that. Normal people expect to have weekends but we're not normal -- working at home, enjoying our work, and feeling a lovely sense of control over our destiny makes it a real challenge to get away. I've kind of been freaking out the past couple of weeks, though, and know that my productivity is down the shitter because I *feel* like shit.
We're not going to go anywhere or do anything fancy, but I am going to get a massage, some exercise, and spend quality time with some books. We are also going to take in the new Ed Harris/Viggo Mortensen movie -- be glad you weren't near me when I shrieked and squealed with crazy Elvis-fan lust when we saw the preview. I cream my panties enough over those guys individually but being blessed yet AGAIN with another pairing of them in the same film is like manna from a very pussy-friendly heaven.
Since I haven't posted anything new of myself for my members in a couple of weeks, it will give me an opportunity to post extra stuff for Halloween! In the meantime, AmberLily posted one of the sets I shot of her at our house so my members can enjoy that!
Over the weekend we were blessed by a visit from AmberLily and her husband. It was a working visit, meaning we weren't getting together *just* to socialize, but mainly to shoot a bunch of pics for her site. Delia and I looked forward to doing this knowing it would feel totally awesome to get a lot of work done without actually having to be in front of the camera ourselves the way we are when we shoot each other. Instead we got to totally devote ourselves to behind-the-camera work which is really so much easier with two people not just to actually TAKE the pictures, but to set up lights, move/clean stuff, etc. It was a good experiment to find out how productive we can be when a bunch of roles/tasks are subtracted from our routine.
I don't want to ruin the surprise of her cute outfits too much for her members, so here are some samples that won't reveal all of her sexy and whimsical ensembles:
I totally hogged the camera the whole time which was fun for ME, but by the end of the night a lot of the pics I snapped were totally fucked: poorly framed, blurry, etc. It's very physical work, both modeling for pictures and taking them; my "muscles" were totally sore the next day, but that didn't stop me from TRYING to get BigD to pose for me.
I *achingly yearn* for more resources (aka money) to be able to shoot with friends in nicer places for longer periods of time without such a limited schedule and the same boring house we've been living in for years. It boggles my mind to think of how much hot porno we could make if we weren't bound by, you know, huge debt and stuff. Until that day comes, however, we're doing a pretty good job with the time and other resources we DO have. If we could do all that we did in five hours, I wonder what we could do with a week or two in more inspiring and spacious locations? You can scoff at the necessity of those things when it comes to porn, but if you do then you've no idea how hard it is to frame thousands of photos to look reasonably special/different so that you don't include a mess, carpet stain, wires, light stands, and other distracting crap that your subject (and her hot HOT pussy) is squeezed between.
A few photos from my most recent members-only gallery (which I think is totally charming, by the way, and I don't say that about ALL of my pictures):
I was pretty proud of our efforts in getting up early to shoot outside before the light got all freaky. Mostly I'm posting these pics though so you'll have visual reassurance that I'm not having a nervous breakdown or anything. I'm so happy just to have boobs!
Somewhere between this entry and the one before it is the truth.
From the gallery of 150 photos I posted for members yesterday:
The leopard print dress I bought at a thrift store for around $10. The nylon stockings are from StockinGirl (I can't remember exactly which style and color they are; they MAY have even come from one of their bargain grab bags). The gold pumps were also bought used from the Portland Red Light on the cheap. The gloves are just the generic cheapies you can buy at costume shops. The "string" style garter belt is from Victoria's Secret which I chose because it looks better with the orange panties from Ross (Dress For Less) than our nice thick six strap belt would:
Basically there is not one thing in this ensemble that cost more than $15. Unless you count the time it took to shop for and assemble them, which I do.
Today is show day so if you want to chat with me and watch me masturbate on cam, join my site and go to the LIVE SHOWS page for members. I've got a SexCamCentral show at 1 pm Pacific / 4 pm Eastern and another on Camz at 9 pm Pacific / midnight Eastern. Delia has her Camz show at 4 pm Pacific / 7 pm Eastern.
After taking swimming lessons as a kid, I haven't spent much time in pools, but I want to get in the water more often so I dusted off my old rubber swim cap (barely used), bought a new one (the purple one below) and replaced the old broken rubber strap on my goggles. I tried everything on during one of my webcam chats last week and was extremely pleased with the results:
I can't tell you how much I love wearing my swim caps -- it has all the pleasure of a corset without the hassle and expense. A corset for your BRAINS! They're snappy, squeaky, thick and delicious and wearing them reminds me how glamorous I thought women were who wore do-rags and turbans when I was very young. LOVE! I am INCHES away from shaving off my hair and wearing swim caps full time (and paired with earplugs it would be delicious deprivation of auditory perception). Except without the hair I don't know if it would be as pleasurable to remove the swim cap after thirty minutes or more of wear; there would be less hair-pulling, but too much cold to enjoy the slow expansion of the head and hair-floof back to maximum size.
And don't even get me started on goggles . . . this is my LOOK! I think it's totally cool when there's a reflection on just one lens.
Swimming was fun, but I went alone and was actually nervous about doing something new: would they have lockers and if so, would they provide locks and keys and something to hold onto the key while I'm swimming? Would I have to pay for each scheduled event I stayed for or only the first thing I showed up for? Would I be horribly slow and block faster, fitter people from enjoying their laps?
I managed to go despite these nagging anxieties and enjoyed myself, even if I can't seem to swim in a straight line and kept kicking the wall during my sidestroke and wound up with a scraped foot. I love being immersed in the water. I love the colors and sounds of an indoor pool. I love everything being muffled and wet and full of vapor. I love floating and turning and being thick and mobile.
I felt calm and heavy afterwards. It's good stuff. In fact, I went back for more and posted a confession/fantasy today for members that I had about myself and the nerdy lifeguard.
Just a quick post to say that we have family visiting today and tomorrow so some of our cams and audio will be down. It's been too long since we've seen our nephew and we haven't even given my sister her present for her birthday which was a month ago. It's a hot pair of peeptoe sandals so in the back of my mind I'm hoping I can get a set of foot-focused pics out of her while she's wearing them, too. Is that so wrong? PROBABLY!
Some snaps of me from the last time we had company over:
My psychiatrist's office finally called back so I made an appointment to get back on Ritalin. I got a huge headache yesterday because I've been trying to use caffeine instead of prescription stimulants and caffeine? It's pure fucking evil. I don't have to consume much over the course of three or four days to suffer nasty consequences.
Even though I was almost totally out of commission yesterday with the headache, I did manage to write and post for members a sicko masturbation fantasy I had. I'm not sure if other people will jack off to it, but it's an interesting peek into the mind of a woman and how the threat of violence from men is a constantly disturbing companion that can't be safely separated from sex in our subconscious minds. Our brains are diseased with scary men.
We have a wedding to attend today, so we had to cancel our usual Sunday shows. As a consolation prize, last night I posted a new gallery and a couple of archived webcam shows from a year ago in my members-only area, including one where I played in one of my favorite things, GLOVES, specifically short red leather gloves:
I covet gloves that are small enough to fit me and tight enough to STRETCH across my knuckles. These ones are old and stained from a vintage clothing store, but I fucking adore them. I would love to have fresh, duplicate pairs in white, red, pink, brown, green, and black. That would make me squeal with leathery happiness! I want to slap others and myself with them and appreciate my freckled arms stemming from their sassy short lengths.
In the other show I posted I wore black nylon stockings and stuck my feet in the camera/viewers' virtual faces a lot:
Next month when my insurance waiting period for pre-existing conditions ends I am going to go see an endocrinologist as suggested by oogoddess awhile back; even if they don't find any explanation for my infertility, weight gain, etc. it will be good to rule out a thyroid problem and other things. My period finally started SIX WEEKS after my last one and I'm pretty much at my wits end dealing with wacky hormones and seeing very little results from exercising and eating more moderately (which is really really fucking hard when having wacky hormones makes me want comfort food for medication). I know I'm getting older and my metabolism is slowing down -- I can accept that -- but I still want to rule out the thyroid thing completely. Thyroid problems seem to be pretty common and frequently undiagnosed for years; there's no reason to suffer needlessly if that's my problem.
Right now I'm working on an update for members, editing pictures we shot last night. I am so bloated and puffy it's hard to look at a lot of pictures of myself lately, but there are always a few redeeming images that can even make the puff look magical.
We really need to install the rest of our new hard drives so that I have enough space to download and edit videos. In the meantime, I have puffy pictures for you.
Allow me to direct more frustrated gazes towards the marvelous "PLineWorld". When our friends introduced it to us, I was immediately smitten and HYPNOTIZED by the flash preview.
Even though I do not have time to enjoy porn memberships right now, just the realization that even if I DID, I'd need a translator to figure out how to signup/couldn't figure out how makes me agitated with lust. They've done a great job luring me in . . . because those pictures are very VERY alluring (clicking on the member login takes you to previews of the galleries with samples, which of course make you really want to see the thumbnails that are NOT clickable to non-members).
Would love to blog about a million things (my questionable ethics, clarification about what is probably a "justice" fetish, etc.), respond to this and that (and blog about when it is and when it isn't reasonable to expect a response from me), but . . . I haven't got the time right this instant. I did want to share something tasty with you, though, so enjoy PLineWorld! It's a very inspiring place . . .
Tomorrow our friends Julia the Naughty Teacher and her photographer are coming over for a visit, which we're really looking forward to.
We won't be shooting, just hanging out and chatting; we really need the social time and they're willing to drive all the way out to our peninsula location so the least we can do is try to get our house to look less like a pig sty. It's getting late and we still have a lot of cleaning to do, so I decided to post a "no frills" version of The List (of all the people I've fucked) tonight along with a guest gallery from Julia, and will publish an additional, more detailed version of The List whenever I'm able to implant the first layer of augmentation in the form of details, links, and video commentary.
While Julia and her photographer are here some of our cams will be down so they will be comfortable. Then we are going to be gone on Thursday so Delia can make one last deposit at the sperm bank before she goes on hormones (we're taking a break from trying to conceive) and we'll also deliver a late birthday present to my sister. We'll also be gone part of Friday for Delia's laser appointment. Next week I'll be hosting hyperchat, though, so members will have many opportunities to hang out with me in chat.
VOYEURS: sorry about the PMS - I know it's not very relaxing to spy on someone screaming and swearing and scowling and barely managing to not throw, kick and break things, but that's life. I tried to treat it with exercise and got out of the house to blow off some steam; it helped a lot and I enjoyed it, but hormones are stubborn fuckers and I have to let loose before the next three days of interacting with others and/or being away from home where I *have* to control myself.
What does this picture have to do with losing one's lunch?
Seriously -- I don't get it. I mean, I *hope* I don't get it. BECAUSE I HATE ASSHOLES! If you're following over a thousand people to get exposure for your site, try not to be a dick (or try to be clear).
I suppose I haven't got any room to talk about how whorey tweeters should represent themselves since I frequently post about pooping. But pooping doesn't hurt anyone's feelings. Though maybe it could make someone lose his lunch. Still, I don't think I want to follow people who have such weak stomachs.
FYI: I may have misrepresented the guy's site in my phone post. And everything else about him. Because I don't know him or what he was trying to communicate. Obviously.
I think I'm on electronic overload since we got home. There's a certain feeling I get in my head, throat and upper chest when I've been talking on a cell phone, listening to an ipod, sitting too close to a webcam, or just having too much computer time; it's like metal and static inside me, almost like the taste of static if static had a flavor (and if I had taste buds all throughout my upper body). I don't think I've ever gotten it from cameras, but other things -- yes. Maybe I have it right now because of the new laptop. Maybe it's emitting some weird . . . something. Probably it's the noise and the frequency of the noises, but it feels more like it's the heated metals and plastics and ozone scents (which I like at first, but then feel like they're seeping into me).
We're home from our three night beach trek and had a lovely time, even if we didn't get to see the meteor shower because we had almost continuous grey skies.
I'm not complaining about the greyness -- it was super relaxing with the white noise of the ocean paired with the visual fog.
Here's what we did: drove, ate mostly junk food, WALKED AND WALKED AND WALKED (to the point where our poor old dog was even tired out), shot a few sets of nudey pics, shot photos recreationally, "swam" (more like played in the water like kids letting the waves crash into us) and had a blast last night at the campground roasting hot dogs and marshmallows.
Here's what I did not do: sleep well.
All in all it was splendid.
Now? I'm pretty tired, but excited to be blogging in bed with MY NEW LAPTOP! I'm going to have to get Zone Alarm (or some other security software: recs anyone?) before I take it places away from home, but I'm super happy to finally have a machine I can blog and write on that's not a dinosaur or hooked up to cams (though it does have the built-in cam I still need to add/subtract a lot of software and stuff to this machine before I log it in anywhere). Anyway, it's romantic to finally have a laptop that I can use the way other people use theirs. I doubt you'll see me haunting coffee shops on a regular basis, but I like knowing I *could* quickly pack up and do some work or even hold chat sessions elsewhere for a change of pace.
I love the smell of new electronic gadgetry. Mmmmmm . . .
Today I spotted a really good deal for webmasters on a huge stash of hot Russian fetish porn so I bought it and decided to use it to start building a bonus site for our members. Tonight I'll post a gallery of fifty of my favorites; the following are samples from that gallery:
I bought this package not only because it was cheap, but because it contains so many things I love: gloves, inflatables, peeing, smiling natural-looking girls, outdoor nudity, white panties & socks, and a host of other naughty things. It's hard to believe the content broker advertised it as his "ugly girls package". Snort. There's some insight into the porn industry mentality (in case you need any, which I doubt).
My hope is to make this bonus site to house bought content (non-exclusive stuff I like, but we didn't shoot ourselves) and be more of a story site with my own little fantasy narrative to accompany my favorite images from each set. I know! WHY am I starting another project? It's not really a big thing to do, though, and not something I need to crank out or "complete" any time soon; it's more like adding another feature to our sites and inspiration for me to write more porno stories which are conspicuously small in number on our sites as it stands. I like riffing off of strangers in content other people have shot. It's fun/hot, plus I feel the need to bulk up on the stories because a) the types of people who dig our sites also seem to dig stories, b) it offers insight into my own turn-ons which is part of the personality people expect from me, and c) to offer a little more of the type of content women gravitate towards (IN GENERAL; of course not all women like their porn in story form, but a whole lot DO rely upon the written word for masturbation fodder and think huge sets of 200 pics are totally fucking boring). Stories are pretty cool because they don't require a bunch of money or extra people to produce outrageous scenarios; you just need time (which IS money, I know) and a pervy imagination.
Speaking of stories, here's the latest on the "Red Rose"/Karen Fletcher case in which a woman was prosecuted by the federal government for OBSCENITY. She was convicted of a thought crime right here in AMERICA! I don't know how to explain this if you don't already know it, but it should not be acceptable to any of us that the government thinks WRITING about criminal behavior and publishing it IS a crime in itself, no matter how unsavory the subject matter. Even if people are jacking off to it. Especially when there are shows on television like Law & Order: Special Victims Unit which is big corporate porn of exactly the same stripe as Karen Fletcher's, only maybe it's worse because people delude themselves into thinking they're watching those fictions not out of "prurient interest" (which is the language the law uses to say certain media is used as jack-off material rather than some more socially-acceptable form of entertainment - I call it the pornography of abuse and it's how Oprah MADE her fortune) but because it's somehow good for society. What a crock of shit. You cannot flip past that show for ten seconds without some Daddy creeping into a family bedroom he shouldn't be in or seeing a child shivering naked in a bathtub or hearing the word RAPE. People obviously get off on that shit in many different ways. Let me clarify, I'm not condemning human nature here (most of us are drawn in one way or another to the horrifyingly sick, scary and macabre), I'm condemning the double standards that criminalize speech that SHOULD be protected by the First Amendment while giving the entertainment industry fucking Golden Globe awards for the same shit wrapped in a different package and set of excuses.
If Karen Fletcher was DOING the things she wrote about or printing the stories up on fliers and distributing them at elementary schools, well OF COURSE she should be not just prosecuted, but locked up for life. But she wasn't. That's not what the Department of Justice went after her for. They went after her for sitting at home in complete isolation, putting words on a computer and then onto the internet. WORDS. She thought about bad things and shared those bad thoughts with a whopping audience of twenty-nine people who sought out and chose to read them. Would I want to be her friend or have her over to babysit? Of course fucking not. What I want is for us all to prosecute and put people in prison WHO ACTUALLY COMMIT CRIMES. Not just imagine crimes in their heads.
Today's show day; I did anal (always a hit) during my first show then Delia and I had a long, relaxed, pleasurable sex session on our spycams. Now she's about to do a show then I have another one tonight. It's funny how sometimes doing webcam shows makes me not want to do anything else sexual that day, and other times it totally charges me up. Today was one of those days where the show definitely augmented my non-show sex drive.
As I've mentioned before, I do a poor job of rewarding or even acknowledging myself when I've met goals or done a good job on something; I tend to want to just go on to the next thing. It's not that I'm never proud of myself, it's just that I don't really soak the feeling up long enough. The other day I decided to do something about that to start the new month off properly; I made a list of my accomplishments for July and progress I made on certain monthly goals. While we only met our sales goals five days out of the whole month, I got confirmation that my only derogatory item on my credit report was removed after I contested it in June. I also have a new goal to blog at least fifteen times a month and managed to exceed that with twenty-two blog entries (spread over a number of blogs, not just this one) and four vlogs for members. We also exceeded our goals for shooting content.
We also have a goal to take four days off (REALLY completely off, the whole day) per month. That's one that we didn't achieve in July, but whatever. You can't accomplish everything, right? Even if it's scheduling leisure time. I also failed to have four hardcore email catchup days (or really to respond to much email at all).
The cool thing about going through this ritual of accomplishment-listing is it's also an opportunity to remind myself what my goals are. Not that I want this month to go by quickly, but I'm looking forward to going through this process again when September hits us.
When I told Delia I wanted to take some pictures at night while the frothy white things were still in bloom, she explained to me that "those "blooming frothy things" are called oceanspray (Holodiscus discolor)". I adore it when she gives me the Latin names for plants. She went on to tell me, "they're a native shrub noted for their exceptionally hard wood. ;-) The local tribes used them for spearing fish and such."
It was windy when we took the pictures so the blossoms are white blurs in many of the photos, but here is a small taste of what we were aiming for:
I love the way my white panties are gleaming!
FYI: the light source is an overhead street light. We have a lot to learn and practice with night photography but I really enjoy making the attempts. We would go back and try again, but the flowers are all getting dry and brown; we really shot this set of pics on nearly the last possible night to get the white froth. There's always next year, though.
If you want a peek at something that encapsulates a lot of what's magical to me about black and white, nighttime, small towns, intimacy, and taboo, here's one of my favorite things from one of the most beautiful movies ever, To Kill a Mockingbird:
As if the opening credits weren't enough gorgeousness, so much of the movie takes place at night. It's spooky and vulnerable and wondrous. That feeling of trees with treasures holes and dark houses with Boo Radleys and curious little people wandering around at night when they shouldn't, finding out sad, scary grown-up things . . . that is a feeling I love and something I would someday like for us to be good at capturing (but without the children, of course). It's why my Keds and panties and my limbs lit up are so captivating to me in these pictures. Why I love the debris on the path. I love the nighttime. I love woodsy places in drowsy neighborhoods. I love being outside and awake when everyone else is asleep. Or *trying* to fall asleep. Or getting fucked really loudly, which is what we heard one lady doing while we were shooting -- it was HOT BEYOND BELIEF!
I'll be posting the full set of pictures for members today. If you'd like to see them (and support us in our erotic endeavors as we learn more about low light and night photography) but you're not a member yet, you can JOIN HERE.
As usual I have lots of thoughts and news swirling around in my head, waiting to be blogged about but without adequate focused time to do it. Thanks for staying interested and continuing to check in with me during my dry spells.
On my simple softcore porn photo shoot to-do list I've resolved to wear more REAL clothes. You know, stuff that can be (and is) worn in public: no stripper shoes, no Leg Avenue costumes, no fishnets.
I just posted this gallery last night with me wearing a bunch of things I love: my all-time favorite hoody with embroidered black flowers (I've been wearing that thing for about eight years), a t-shirt my sister loaned me the last time we went to the spa, a knit cap that actually belongs to Delia's ex-wife but has lived with us for years. I wore the pants in another shoot, but I love them so much and they're even softer now than they were then. They totally represent love to me because my sister bought them for me when she was out shopping. Buying pants for people is hard! I would never risk buying anyone a pair of pants, not even my sister, but she clothed me in soft, cozy legwear.
This picture here makes me want to do a Rosie the Riveter style shoot (won't be any time soon though -- we don't have the time or money to pull off something that good/important to me right now, not to mention I need bigger muscles):
Anyway, I really love this set of pictures -- I think they're adorable and I look palpably fleshy and real.
This week I've got a lot of chat sessions scheduled for any members who want a chance to talk to me. I'm actually in our chatroom right now . . . alone. Which is why I was able to make this post! Think how easy it could be for you to have an awkward one-on-one conversation with me by becoming a member. You could be moving your moist hands back and forth from your genitals to the keyboard while you talk to me about music and toggle back and forth between the chatroom, my desk cam, and these photos without being able to explain the appeal because I totally don't even look sexy, at least not in a mainstream media or porno way.
We finally got a new camera! It just arrived on Tuesday so today we shot our first nudey set with it. Here's one of my favorite, happy NON-nudey shots from that:
I'm extremely happy with it and hope to write a whole blog entry singing its praises and showing it off. Here's one I took last night:
I should say that I can't BELIEVE it's been over a week since I made a blog entry here, but I actually CAN believe it. I feel it in my marrow, this neglect. I could whine and cry about how disgusting I've felt and how tired I've been but that kind of melodramatic pathos won't do anybody any good. Instead I'll just say that I've revamped my routine goals and schedules in such a way that I will be more productive and efficient.
Basically instead of cycling through a long weekly routine to-do list, I've shortened my daily and weekly tasks and lengthened the monthly to-do list so I can group repetitive tasks in a lump to get weeks of them done ahead of time rather than trying to switch gears and never getting ahead by focusing on weekly cycles which barely give me a chance to half-assedly finish all my "chores" before the next week starts and I'm back on exactly the same treadmill; I've been depressed and overwhelmed feeling like I'm spinning my wheels so I really want to set work up so that I can get on a roll and STAY there for two to six days on one type of work at a time. Part of this switch began with me scheduling one hyperchat week per month and now I'm following through on that by making ALL of my work into lumpier monthly events.
Speaking of lumpy monthly events, I did get my period/am not pregnant. I just finished up with that and my second Clomid prescription so in a week or so I should ovulate again. This time we are 90% sure we're going to the doctor for an intrauterine insemination instead of the homebrew fucking. Maybe bypassing my cervix will get this party started, but it will probably leave our spycam voyeurs high and dry since Delia will be storing up her spooge for the fertility doctors who will spin it and wash it and prep it for my uterus (a process that causes some sperm to be lost). Sounds pretty counterproductive, doesn't it? Perhaps, but many sperm are lost in the vag, too, never even getting past the cervix especially if one has "hostile cervical mucous" which really sounds like a very Trixie-esque condition. I haven't had my cervical mucous tested or anything, but it would not surprise me one bit if all of this disappointment could be blamed on my bitterly acidic cunt juices. Oh, we've tried tricks designed to improve the quality of my mucous and used products intended to bathe sperm in slippery stuff they can easily swim through, but to no avail so far. We really want to get this motherfucking show on the road. FOR REALS.
Tonight I'm going to try to get these new photos posted for members and maybe get some more exercise, too. My body is like a weird stranger to me these days, all thick and dimpled in both good and bad ways. I did some exercise along with the tv the other day called "slow-robics" and couldn't even make it the entire hour even with commercial breaks. After the midway mark I had to take a big ass break then come back to it for another ten minutes. There were tons of speed-skater-imitating squatting exercises that turned my thighs and buttocks into what felt like big soft balloons of swollen jello. I have only just regained the ability to lower my ass onto the toilet without screeching in agony and clutching at the wall for support on the way down.
I guess this is what they call "thirty-five". On an intellectual level I know precisely how I've gotten to this point and exactly what I need to do to control at least some of the damage, but on another level I just can't believe this is my body. More to the point, I can't believe how different I am from when I was young. Again, on a rational level it all makes total sense and OF COURSE I'm different from my younger self, but it's not just my body that's different; I have changed in many ways and am maybe needing some time to adjust to my new identity and get to know who I am.
All this dim-witted introspection might sound silly, like it should all be easy and come naturally and make total sense, but you make a lot of plans in life and develop a lot of habits based on your perception of your identity. When your values, needs, and abilities shift then you need to change your habits and plans. Being here in my mid-thirties is almost like losing a limb and needing to learn how to do everything with three of them instead of four. My balance is off and I feel justified in simplifying things. It's not that I feel handicapped by my age (except slightly in the body/porn department); on the contrary, I know I'm more skilled and capable. On the other hand, I'm less deluded and more aware of (and complacent about) my weaknesses. I'm more sure of what I want and what I do NOT want which is great, but it does make one's options seem more limited.
I feel like I blew my ambition wad in my twenties, working really long and hard hours for other people. Proving myself to other people, making other people money, doing what other people wanted and tiring my damned self out. Now? I feel like I don't have much of that drive left, in part because I'm happy and content, but also because I'm just motherfucking tired of it. I don't like having to be resourceful to do my job; I want to have all of the tools I need to do my job well and it just exhausts me, mentally, physically and emotionally, having to pull everything together on a shoestring budget to attain mediocrity. It feels like a big waste of my time and I really REALLY want to spend more time with my family and I REALLY want to make better porn. A lot more time with my family AND a lot more porn. I think these are very normal, typical thirty-something feelings and part of me enjoys being in this stage of life. It's also embarrassing, though, because I feel like I should be able to muster up the energy to rectify this lack of resources. Sometimes it's empowering to know you control your own destiny and can CHANGE your situation just by hard work. Other times? It's just really depressing and tiring when you feel like you've DONE your hard work and you're way past due for the payoff. Everything feels like it hinges on how well I can mind-fuck myself into believing that I can, at the very least, double our income which is basically what we need to do and FAST to make continuing what we do justifiable. Of course, getting normal jobs is even less justifiable than continuing what we do full time simply because the only hope we have of paying off our debts is to win the lottery or work hard on our sites (since there's no limit to what we can make on them, unlike real jobs that have, ummm, limitations on wages and salaries and such, and are totally degrading and exhausting and enslaving compared to working for yourself on the internet). We don't play the lottery and I have no desire to quit what I do, so this is what we're going to keep on doing. Of course, my mind is always spinning with ways I can augment the porn site stuff and switch up our plans and find other revenue streams (aka pile even more jobs on myself) but the basic place I'm at is feeling like I've run a really long race and have no idea how far I am from the finish line. My body is falling apart and I'm beyond ready to slow my pace WAY down to falling flat on my face, preferably straight into a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy. But I just keep telling myself to keep trudging along even though I suspect when I round the bend there's just going to be another long-ass stretch of empty road.
It's almost 9 pm now so I'm not going to be able to get both exercise AND an update done. I'm feeling floppy after writing this and want to go to bed, but I'll try to get back in here to edit the photos because I know it will be fun and make me feel better. Then again, so would eating donuts and watching television.
Here are a couple photos from the new galleries I'm posting tonight for my members:
I can't say they're the best galleries I've ever posted, but they have a few redeeming qualities. I also posted the third gallery in a series of snapshots from my non-porn life ranging from my late teens through my married years. People really enjoy seeing candid photos and I really enjoy sharing them, so it's been a fun little project that adds a lot of perspective. Only one person has admitted to jacking off to the teenage pictures, though. He confessed it thrilled him to know that I was "in tact" at the time the photograph was taken. Bwahahaha! Naughty!!
If you were spying on me earlier and saw me crying, that happened because I was looking at pictures of my devastatingly beautiful and amazingly cute almost-two year-old nephew and listening to a song called "Miles From The Lightning" by Jeffrey Foucault.
I feel the need to pray, weep and laugh myself into exhaustion.
Rather than go another day without blogging, I'll share something SUPER COOL that I ran across today: the World Sunlight Map.
It's so incredibly beautiful to me, this refreshable ilustration of Earth with her cloud cover and shadow over the places where it's dark. It's deeply appealing to the voyeur in me, gazing at places where I know we have friends and fans, imagining myself hovering so far away and somehow imagining I can zoom down and know something close about them because I can see whether they are in light or night. I think it's the shadowy parts that make it feel like there's some entity out there, even if that entity is just space, potential and a different perspective, and that I'm part of it. It turns the whole concept of "He's Got the Whole World (in His Hands)" inside out so I feel like we're offered a vantage point of holding the whole thing in our OWN hands, tiny and precious. So vulnerable to and dependent on light and dark. We're all in there; it's wacky and thrilling.
It's like doing a God role play with omniscience being the ultimate form of voyeurism. As such, I added the World Sunlight Map to a new page for our spycam fans that also includes webcam shots of roads, bridges and ferries that we travel and links to our town's webcams. I'm guessing a few people will enjoy them even if none of these features are explicitly pornographic. They're all things *I* enjoy VERY much that give me a strangely different vantage point on my own life and position. My perception of NOW is different looking at that dark wave blanketing my country. It makes me appreciate how temporary the night is, and how I should make full use of it and the daylight because they pass so quickly. You can see each one as it approaches. It's a slowly moving picture of the passage of time and each of us invisibly under it.
I'm in a funk right now, mostly owing to PMS. The weather has been a bit gloomy; even when it's sunny out there's a shadow of oppressive darkness hanging around. See how it's crushing our dog? Tiny purple weed flowers growing close to the ground. You don't even feel like stretching.
How about some movie-talk? We saw Iron Man. We went into it prepared for the bad aspects; it was a ridiculous blockbuster MOVIE-movie, and we needed that for the mindless entertainment factor. I loved the metal King Kong and the flying-against-the-fighter-jets scenes. It was nowhere near a V for Vendetta type of flick, but it's still special to see a big movie in the theater with a lefty storyline. One annoying detail sticks out in my mind above all others: armpits. Was it my imagination, or were his armpits shaved after supposed months in captivity? If so, gross. That's the epitome of a fucked-up dose of contemporary unreality.
I definitely think we should all thank our lucky stars Robert Downey Jr. got the title role instead of Cage or Cruise. He's been wank material for me since I was a teen watching Less Than Zero when James Spader made him get on his knees and suck some cock to pay for drugs. I so wish that scene was hardcore or even just a minute longer (since it wasn't I relied heavily upon the straight scenes for "inspiration"). I loved Secretary and all, but I'd really rather have seen a long redux of that interrupted BJ scene. Maybe this time it could have been Jake instead of Maggie joining RDJ to perform sweaty, tear-stained head on some large coked-up stallion. Robert, you STILL have the most lickable, greasy eyelids in film. And I will never forget the way you told us you were getting "chubby" in Shortcuts.
If you want a sense of what my days have been like lately, check here.
The other day I solicited feedback from any members who *want* to see me gain weight or enjoy the weight I've gained. This is, of course, a dangerous thing to do since some people fetishize weight gain to an unhealthy degree and the last thing I need, I suppose, is encouragement to gain more weight. I suppose. Anyway, I did get this one fun-to-read comment (which I've abbreviated here):
. . . . the reason I joined first was because I thought/sensed you had the 'frame' to gain weight...or more accurately, the width of your hips gave you the kind of body type I love to see fill out. With that body type, the ass and thighs really expand. And so it is w/ you. . . . Big thick ass, full thighs, fuller belly, etc...when a woman can own this and really rock it, it's just so sexy. I would LOVE to see you facesitting, that's a natural for any woman who is gaining weight and accepts the sexual eroticism of her either large or growing ass. I would love to see you riding reverse cowgirl, so again we can see your full thick ass from behind as you ride - either a face or cock, whatever. Seeing you squat, totally sxe. I could go on and on and have wanted to voice this to you for some time....so since you offered an open invitation to us on this issue today, I'm jumping at the chance. And, yes, seeing you gain weight turns me on...knowing you have this love/hate w/ it turns me on....knowing you're reading this and thinking how it might even have the smallest impact on your thoughts or feelings, turns me on.
Ahhhh, delightful. I only wish I *did* gain more weight in my rear; unfortunately a disproportionate amount of it goes to my belly and chins/neck. In fact, I calculated my waist-to-hip ratio here and it's definitely over the .8 threshold. Still, my butt and thighs are definitely bigger than they used to be so that is, in many ways, a dream come true. It would be good if I did more exercise to build bigger butt muscles; I saw a marked improvement when I was going to the gym and using the elliptical on certain settings. For those of you who don't believe I've gained a potentially unhealthy amount of weight or think I'm exaggerating my belly size, check this out. The balance ball picture is newest, but they all show where the bulk of my fat is stored. Note: I'm not done building that little niche site, but it will have my chubbiest pictures, some of which I've not posted on my main site. It's a learning experience and therapeutic little project of mine.
Anyway, thanks for the feedback, anonymous commenter, and I hope you enjoy the latest gallery of me sitting on a big balance ball; the video will be even plumper and juicier!
An overwrought, incoherent mini-tribute to my favorite periodical and worthy cause, $pread magazine:
Do you know what it's like to go to the newsstand and see business magazines like inc. and then for a second get excited because you see a magazines for WOMEN-run businesses. But it's called something like "PINC." and you buy it even though you know absolutely nothing inside will have anything to do with the one industry that women should dominate. The sex industry (the pinkest industry). Not. One. Word. Of recognition. It's like trying to plan your own funeral in a society that doesn't have a word for death or acknowledge that everyone dies in the end. That's how crazy it seems to refuse to acknowledge the business of sex in general discussions about business, particularly businesses run by women. That's how fucking backwards and NOT progressive we are (but I'm sure most straight business-women think that IS progress, to not associate women in business with the possibility of anything remotely sexual except for harassment and victimization). The new ambitious woman is required not to be in charge of her body or to enjoy it in her off time or to use it to get ahead, but to project a consistently professional asexual image, don't you know? God forbid word leaks out that she even HAS a body underneath those clothes! No, the working woman can only advance in status by keeping her tits and pussy discretely locked away in a witness protection program; showing off our assets only serves to make them a liability. If we show them to anyone on purpose it might make it harder for us to use them to prosecute some guy later who took an uncivilized interest in them.
The world thinks that starting an ebay business selling crocheted kleenex box holders is a better, more legitimate career* for a woman than turning tricks or being a webwhore. This is unbelievably STUPID to me and it's why women who do sex work are pretty motherfucking socially isolated. Because we're not just doing a job that's hard to talk about with other people, like being a paramedic or a soldier or a nurse who attends to the dead and dying and ends and saves lives; those people are considered heroic even if no one wants to hear the truth of their jobs. Those people usually work in teams, teams that don't have to compete against each other for pay; they can talk to EACH OTHER about their work. I'm not denying that there's competition in those fields for promotions (which do equal more money) and status and I'm certainly not denying that those jobs are hard (on the contrary) nor am I trying to say that sex work is harder than those jobs; what I'm trying to say is that doing sex work can be very isolating. Not only are we discouraged by polite society from talking about our work (and even laws against talking about it in some cases), but our work itself is often against the law. Very few sex workers can talk to their family, romantic interests, or non-whore friends about our tough days at the office, and developing a sense of camaraderie with colleagues is often challenging. There's no human relations department where we can file grievances. I'm not saying these circumstances exist for all of us or are necessarily unbearable or even undesirable for a lot of us, I'm just saying that it *can* be pretty fucking lonely in ways that are fairly unique. I am really lucky that I am a hermit to begin with, my partner does the same kind of work I do, and I'm out with my family and can be fairly open with them. Plus, my brand of sex work is really safe, no-(physical)-contact stuff. Still? There are times when I realize that my friends and family have no fucking clue who I am, what I do, or what's important to me . . . and don't WANT to. There are some things that I can only talk about with other people who do the work I do. I'm sure it's the same for lawyers, priests and teachers but they HAVE networks and coffee rooms and church and professional associations. Me? I am still stunned by finding out that my sister (who I'm very close to) assumed I would want my sites taken down if/when I die. Apparently my story is something she thinks I would want erased rather than shared and preserved in all of its grotesquely intimate nakedness.
So is it weird that seeing $pread for sale at a bookstore made my heart skip a beat and a pain dive down through my innards as though I'd just unexpectedly caught sight of someone I have a big crush on? I don't know if I can explain where that intense feeling of recognition comes from and the sense of being on the verge of something life-altering, like standing in a crowd and having a beam of sunlight shine specifically down on just you, singling you out as deserving of solace and renewal. While everyone else just mills around the bookstore, you are aware of being part of a group of people witnessing and breaking through thousands and thousands of years of foul, soul-staining, isolating, life-killing bullshit.
I think it's the sensation of battle (not war) victory upon seeing a visible representation of a long line of stigmatized women's voices finally coming to be recognized and legitimized, our hiserstories written by ourselves and our concerns and specific business needs addressed. Uncensored, not twisted or misappropriated or degradingly pitied by academia and looky-loos and feminism-hoarders. Not perfect, not artsifucked, but really fucking important. Our stories. VALUED in print and for sale in public.
*Note: I mean no offense to crafty crocheters of kleenex box holders; I myself would love to know how to crochet. Plus I would never disrespect someone for honoring tissue boxes since I myself have a major kleenex fetish. I'm just reasonably sure that whoring is a more viable business than hand-crafting tissue cozies.
**Confession: I delayed posting this entry because I let my $pread subscription lapse and felt like it would make me a liar to post this without my money backing it up. Then I realized that's silly since I will resubscribe and order the back-issues I missed. And who would know this if I didn't tell them? Why am I so uptight and guilt-riddled? I also need to finish my site redesign and include more links to things and people I care about.
On my birthday (Saint Patrick's Day) we went for a walk in the woods with our dog. We've gotten more rain in the past week than we normally do in our Western Washington "banana belt" location, so the moss and everything seemed a brighter green edging the path.
One of my favorite things about being in the woods with Delia is the way she will point out pretty things, first using their common names and then (if I'm lucky) their Latin names. Was it a flowering quince she pointed out? I can't remember what it was, only that it had pink buds and the water was behind Delia when she said it. I can hear the sound of the comma between the English and the Latin, even if I can't remember the words.
As we wandered off the beaten path, Delia notified me that she found a morel:
For the rest of our walk she kept her eyes peeled for more while I just grinned feeling that fortune had smiled upon us. On me, especially.
Today she fried it up in butter and soy sauce and we shared that one small, delicious mushroom. It was better than a birthday cake. The kiss afterwards was salty and slick with grease.
Happy St. Patrick's Day (and happy 35th birthday to me)!
From a set of photos I'll be posting later today for members:
Irish girls do it paler and doughier:
Cameltoe in clover green:
We've had sex four mornings in a row hoping to fertilize the egg that I popped on Friday. Sunday morning was just for good measure ;). It really relaxed me so I went back into a blissful sleep afterwards, then got up and spent many hours doing housework. I'm not an efficient cleaning person because I get easily distracted and roam from room to room, but when I just allow myself to enjoy the process it's actually really soothing to me. It was nice to get away from the computers and pay attention to our surroundings. While we are waiting to find out whether or not our conception attempt was successful I want things to be as calm and relaxing as possible and also focus my energy on grounding myself in my body and home. Peace is a state of being I usually have to work towards to achieve; I would like to practice more to get to the point where it comes more naturally. This is especially important now that I want to become a parent.
I have a couple of hour-long chats scheduled today so that our members can come in and kiss my ass with birthday well-wishes. They are at noon and nine pm (Pacific Time). I'm also hoping to fit in some time for more personal blogging and some exercise. My family is going to be spending a few days with us later this week to celebrate my birthday so I don't know how much I'll be able to accomplish site-wise while they're here.
I'd like to point out a few of my favorite free porn galleries I've posted over on Trixie.com and explain what I like about them:
RONI OUTSIDE IN A WHITE GOWN First of all, I really admire Roni, her site, her shows, and her style. And I was *this close* to masturbating to the photo of the water gushing over her feet.
REDHEAD IN A FIELD WEARING CUTOFFS & BIKINI I confess that anything depicting love between a girl and her horse arouses me. I know that sounds sick and wrong, but just the suggestion of it is enough for me to daydream (which I prefer to anything horrifyingly explicit and real). And I really like the shape of her legs and that she looks like she's really country.
NAUGHTY JULIE GIVES HEAD I am a big fan of Naomi Watts/love the way she looks AND I love Julie, so seeing Julie look so much like Naomi in that second clip? SENDS me!
"TEMPTING TRANNY" ANGELINA This might be the prettiest glam hardcore tgirl gallery I've ever seen and I *love* the way the guy is manhandling her; I really love images that show a man's arms wrapped around a woman with his hands on display on her rear or sides or stomach or thighs. It's a really potent sight for me, and the guy in this set has really beautiful hands.
TRUTH OR DARE Those of you who know me probably don't need me to point out my trigger(s) on this one.
OH MY SIDEBURNS! Lewdly set up to perfection, and the second clip is just . . . wow. Really fucking hot. And the bare feet, bad teeth & moaning in the last clip? Gah!!! Hotness!!!!
Here's one of my favorite pictures that we shot over the past two days:
We rented a room in town for a couple of nights to shoot in, but wound up coming home to sleep both nights. We like being in our own bed at home with our dog, plus we are addicted to stupid shows like American Idol and America's Next Top Model. I feel a little anxious about getting rooms in town for shoots because people are naturally curious why we would get a room when we LIVE here. It makes me even more nervous when we aren't actually there all night; I'm afraid we'll arouse suspicion and wind up on some kind of small-town blacklist. Not that we're doing anything BAD by hauling lights into their rooms and taking nudey pics of each other, but you never know what people will think (they *have* to wonder why we have so many giant pieces of luggage; it probably looks like we're going to cut up a body or something).
This morning we actually had to set the alarm in order to wake up early enough to have sex, since I may have ovulated last night and we still had to go pick up our luggage from the hotel this morning and take the dog to the vet. I actually got to stay in bed and stew in the sex juice while Delia took care of all of that. Now? I'm editing a gallery of pictures (represented by the above picture) for members and listening to PJ Harvey.
The book isn't full of erotic fiction, it's an anthology of extremely provocative non-fiction pieces covering sex from challenging and unusual (but important and relevant) perspectives. Rachel Kramer Bussel edited the collection (and is looking for submissions for 2009).
Check out Audacia Ray's video review of the book to get a better idea of my piece and the book. When she says "period porn" she is not talking about porn featuring people dressed up in anachronistic costumes; she's talking about the the porn you find on BloodyTrixie and EroticRed.
For me, the best part of being included in this anthology is getting exposure to a topic that at first glance seems very "special interest" (the freedom to make and sell porn featuring menstruation) but really challenges people's assumption that we live in a country where free speech is protected, women own their own bodies, and capitalism rules. We don't. It's exciting to know that more people are going to be exposed to the marginalized truth that fringe-dwelling pornographers like myself live every day.
The stand-out parts of the book in total are its depth of exploration and diversity of topics; a lot of mainstream media coverage of sex is so shallow, boring and repetitive. So much that we read and hear about sex is either a) entertainingly dismissive or b) hyper-judgmental fear-mongering. It's usually some dumbed-down story to get ratings or clicks presented by people who really don't know what they're talking about. Sex is held at arm's length and treated as something that doesn't effect "real" life (except in a predatory way) or Matters of Serious Consequence.
I love the idea of people being shown by this book that THEY'VE BEEN MISSING OUT on fascinating, puzzling, and complex stories of personal and political import. This book is loaded with surprises and challenges while maintaining its readability. Each piece's tone and subject is so different from the others that it makes me feel giddy hoping people will realize they've been gypped by not being told more stories like these before. The contents of Best Sex Writing 2008 show the field of sex journalism's enormous scope in a way that makes it impossible to dismiss as fluff.
I'M HOLDING A DRAWING AT THE END OF MARCH TO WIN AUTOGRAPHED COPIES OF BEST SEX WRITING 2008:
How to enter: Email me with your username and mailing address stating you want to be in the drawing. I don't want to automatically enter everyone with a membership since some people may not even want the prize or may not have a safe address to receive parcels from webwhores.
How many: If more than one hundred (100) members email me to be in the drawing, I will draw for a second book. If more than 200 members email, I'll draw three (and so on). That way people will at least have a 1/100 chance (or better) of winning no matter how many new people join our sites.
Watch the drawing: Tuesday, April 1st at 4 PM Pacific Time on our spycams and in our members-only chatroom.
I'm in the process of posting a Valentiney gallery for members with pictures like this (only bigger):
Right now I'm huffing down a bowl of cereal and sorting through a to-do list of about fifty (not exaggerating) things I need to do before we leave for an overnighter. Just the two of us in a suburban hotel room; we're planning to shoot a little porn, too, but the main goal of the evening is to have fun and celebrate a form of Valentine's day with each other before the actual calendar day of the 14th which we will spend with our members. We'll be back home tomorrow after Delia's laser treatment.
Okay, much packing and quick webwhoring to be done. Oh, and it won't surprise me if my period starts while we're supposed to be having romance-time. Not that I mind having my period (obviously, since I made a whole site about it) it's just annoying not knowing, especially when we are hoping to be pregnant. I've no desire to test for pregnancy at this point, though, until AFTER the 6th week of my unpredictably stretched-out cycle starts. Tomorrow is only five weeks (about the average time it takes for my period to start again).
Because the appearance of modesty STRIPPED appeals to many, here I am wearing a dress and flats I used to wear to church:
Plus the conservative classic, pantyhose (snagged, of course) over white panties:
And, finally, nude, pure and pale as the driven snow:
There are 138 pictures in this series available to my members.
I am now getting ready for a musical chat session (also with members); I'll be uploading new songs to my neglected "radio" station, ripping songs from cd's, and taking suggestions from members regarding music to explore and add.
The older I get the more awed I am by the weather. Or maybe the longer I work inside from my own home without being obligated to go outside at all for anything, the more STUNNING the weather is when I do take notice of it (or maybe I mean nature in general rather than just the weather). Today was gloomy all morning then POURED down rain then did the sunshine thing so beautifully that everything was dripping with wet drops of light. Here's a photo looking the same direction as this one with snow:
A little something that the deer left us near the compost bin (and yeah, I think it's BEAUTIFUL; I love the green in contrast to the glossy little pebble-turds):
The tunnel-like animal trail the deer take:
I interrupted my lunch-making to take those photos, then got in bed with my cooled-off soup, keeping an eye on the prettiness outside while I ate. Less than an hour later the sky and wind started hurling snowflakes at me, pelting the glass between us. It make me fucking giddy (this picture in no way does it justice, but there is that one flake you can see on the window and the obvious difference in the sky):
It's funny to compare how I feel about the weather to the way I feel about sex; I think people are entirely too excited about sex and really underenthused about the weather. I know local television news is enthusiastic about weather, but not the way I mean. I mean one or two people or some swinging couples in an RV campground hearing the rain pelting their roofs and hopping out of bed to say, "whoah! Dja hear that? WOW, look at that!!" Then everyone hugs and cuddles and gets wet. Or you hug yourself and grin and stare.
Everyone's so fucking excited about taking pictures of naked people, but I honestly think that will get old and tiresome faster than the weather. Maybe I just feel that way because I work day in and day out with naked pictures of people. But I also have lived near Seattle for my entire 34 years so you'd think if it was a matter of overexposure I'd be OVER getting excited about precipitation. Maybe if it were my job to take nature pictures, THEN I'd be able to compare sex vs. weather on a level playing field.
I'm not saying that sex and naked people aren't fantastic -- they are -- I'm just recognizing the intensity of my feelings for the weather and that I'm at a point in my life where sex seems almost ho-hum in comparison. To the weather.
Maybe it just feels good to experience and submit to a greater force that I can't control or harness for work. I don't know if there are a lot of surprises left for me in the realm of sex, but the weather? CONSTANTLY SURPRISES ME even though it shouldn't anymore. And hey, have you noticed how the sun and moon are in different places in the sky every day? Even when you look at them at the same time every day, there are all of these variables (WEATHER! PLANETARY ALIGNMENT!) making them appear different all of the time. That's fucking cool! Why don't we talk about this more often instead of all this SEX blah blah blah SEX SEX blah sexblahblahblah?
Next up on my exciting, sexy blogging agenda: how steam locomotives are unfairly ignored and underrated by sex bloggers AND bonus entry listing the ten best new age songs to play at the planetarium!
Last night we had sex almost purely for the fun and pleasure of it (rather than as an obligatory conception attempt). I rubbed some Skin Trip lotion all over my face and neck, then all over Delia's face and neck. It smelled like a hundred hot, tangled-up memories from the past eight years. We lit candles so the light had the same quality as the light in a million indistinguishable, pleasant past-times. I put on music from albums I've had since I was a teenager. I would say that it made me feel young again, but that's not quite accurate; I think it made me remember that I used to be younger than I am now. It was like visiting myselves from years past. It was sweet.
I was really excited about having my boobs touched through my t-shirt, excited about looking down at them stretching out the thin fabric, watching them being groped and jostled and making the material covering them crease, tighten, tense, release. Excited about having them pressed upwards and jiggled around. I was adamant about having them fondled up to and throughout my orgasm. In the moments before and during, I was thinking about touching this girl's nipples, imagining both having them as her and touching them as a him. I got off on it, guiltily, because that's the hottest way for me in my head.
Because I'm always raving about the beautiful light and view we have, here is PART of our view of the Olympics:
We were hoping to shoot photos inside using exactly that southern light today, but it was actually all wrong and coming in at the wrong angle so my legs would have been in blaring bright light while my body and face would have been shadowed. We're going to wait and shoot with artificial light when the sun goes down. I wish our yard were as private as it looks in these photos, because we'd totally be shooting our asses off outside (snow on the "mountains" would be a great titty gallery):
When we had to scrap our daytime indoor shoot plans, we backed up to trying to go somewhere to shoot outside, but I had to scrap that plan, too; every outfit I tried on that included practical shoes (because it's icy outside even though the snow's almost all melted away) made me look like a bloated marshmallow. So we're just waiting to utilize the one tidy area we have in our house this evening and I am doing other work until the sun goes down. If our house were crystal clean we'd have more options, but ummmm . . . it's not. We'll have to work on that tomorrow or something.
Delia did have a show scheduled tonight (and last night) but both had to be canceled due to my cycle's unpredictability/us still trying to get pregnant, so she wanted to do a members-only chat session instead (which I am looking forward to).
The top things on my agenda for today are getting some exercise, then getting pretty and shooting some photos for members. I would also dearly love to do some more blogging, but I don't know if there will be time for that. Getting ready and doing our shoots could take up the majority of the day.
We're back home from our Portland trip and 500 photos richer. Well, 498. And of course we'll delete many of those, too. Not very productive in terms of shooting, but what we DID shoot was great. Besides, we were really there for Delia's doctor appointment and also spent a nice evening visiting with our friends, Torn and Toni of KatVixen.com. I realize you all read me telling you how much I like to avoid people and socializing and all of that jazz, so you probably never conceive of how much I actually *do* like people and talking with them, and how hard it is for me to call it a night once conversation is rolling. I think I deprive myself so much of social stimulation that I become parched for it, which creates a vicious circle because I pretty much know I'll want to overdo it when we meet up with people and then need a week of hermit mode to recover my wits There is often a part of me that *almost* whines to friends, "I wish you/we didn't have to go" at the overdue end of a visit. A lot of my issues with socializing/needing a lot of alone time are less to do with preference and more to do with the way my brain is wired and that I just wind up blowing fuses trying to process the extra stimuli.
So. A small (or literally a large) reason why we didn't shoot more photos is that I didn't recognize in time how overweight I am and that an outfit I packed, THE outfit, the one I was all sexed up to wear and use in a teacher role play, could barely be buttoned/couldn't be zipped. I love it way too much to wear it incorrectly so it put me in a bit of a foul temper. It was slightly more depressing than our Halloween shoot debacle where I actually SPLIT THE SEAMS of the pirate dress I ordered. That was sort of funny and I wish we'd have gotten the splitting on tape. Oh well.
My conflicting feelings/thoughts regarding my level of physical fitness: *I think I look and feel fine -- nay, almost exactly how I've always WANTED to look -- for a normal thirty-four year old *but not a thirty-four year old who sells images of her body and needs to be versatile. *I don't fucking WANT to eat less or exercise more. I just don't WANT to! Okay, I do want to but there are about 567 things on my list of things I WANT TO DO ****WAY MORE**** than exercise. I'd rather be fucking blogging, right? I'd rather be masturbating I'd rather be eating donuts while Delia gets ready for me to take pictures of HER. I would just rather be sitting on my goddamned ass using my motherfucking BRAIN, okay? *but okay, I *do* want to look good in that outfit, darlings. I *do*. It's just too perfect. There are SO MANY perfect little outfits. I pretend not to care, but oh, I *do* care, because I want to look so cute and fit in polka dot blouses and dresses with darts.
None of this matters in any real way and it sickens me to even think about it for a moment, let alone go ON and ON about it, torturing myself and others with this fucking weight loss drivel. What a senseless waste of time. But. I think some of my dramatic feelings right now about my body are connected to bigger things than my bigger body. Like admiring some of the work my more cerebral cohorts do and feeling resentful that I don't have time to do more of what they're doing. That I'm bogged down by my visually body-oriented work that begs me to tend to it in such time-consuming ways. That my body right now is my most valuable natural resource and I'm trashing it (I would say that Delia's body is my most valuable resource, but that would open up a whole other can of worms about possession and pimping and shit). That I want my work to focus more on *other* people's bodies and less on my own. That I want it to fucking WORK PROPERLY but suspect I'm rounding the bend where I can't take it for granted at all and it wants me to know that. I'm full of suspicious lumps, I can't seem to get pregnant, and I'm having a hard time disguising my comical bulges.
I don't like to complain about it or sound pessimistic. It's important to me to say that I don't FEEL as bad as I sound. But I *do* need to process these feelings. And remind myself that the reason I do the work I do is because a) I like it/feel driven to, and b) it is part of a plan that *does* allow me to do *all* of the kinds of work I want to do. Some of it right now/all of the time, and more of it eventually. And all of it really whenever I want if at any time I want to drop any of it that I'm sick of. And that's the big reminder, that I can do whatever I want. I don't WANT to stop doing anything I do right now OR I WOULD. I just really crave to do MORE of the millions of things I want to do. Making choices pains me because sometimes choosing to do one thing means choosing NOT to do other things I really really DO want to do (refer to above: socializing).
Sorry if that is all incoherent and vague. It makes sense to me, though. FYI: comments reassuring me about my weight or arguing about it will not be published; it's not the real issue here: the real issue is what I want to concentrate on more than my body. Love to chat about it more, but again, this is more of a reflective post for myself than an informative or conversational post for others; once I post this I want to be dumped of it and move on.
I don't know if I can describe how satisfying it is to look at these photos we've shot, the ones that are beautiful. Since it's difficult to describe without being redundant or obnoxious, you wind up reading more angst about dumb things like body image than daily thanksgiving about important things like how splendid I feel about what we make. I feel wrong even taking that much credit for just being lucky enough to have a camera, a moderately good eye and an appreciation for the beauty of certain things that never get old no matter how many times you duplicate them: black nylons against a blonde wood floor. Red patent leather. My girlfriend's ass. Her willingness to get on the floor for me. The way the pictures I capture can keep getting better regardless of how fat I eventually may get or whether or not I can bear children or whether or not I ever lose a breast to cancer. I will still always know and deeply appreciate a billion and one things that are beautiful and exquisite and erotic and are not too hard for me to point out and celebrate. That I WANT to point out and celebrate.
During my shows today I got the usual questions I get when I'm wearing a tampon and haven't bothered to cut the string. Namely, "what she got hangin out of her pussy?" I feel it's my moral obligation to continue flaunting my string time if only to educate these sheltered ignoramuses.
After my last orgasm I returned my focus to the chatroom only to read a new question, one I'd never fielded before:
"Why is your pussy so flat?"
Ummmmmm . . . flat? Well, here is what he was looking at:
I had to ask him what he meant. FLAT? He couldn't bring himself to elaborate. And maybe it does look relatively flat, especially without any hair on it (a recent change). Regardless, I couldn't tell you WHY mine is that way. It just IS. I was born with a (now) stylishly cute vulva that could almost be mistaken for fake if not for the vulgar coloring, pimples, and hair (when I have it, which is almost always). And as I've gotten older it's gotten more of a pinched pie dough look, but it still has its flat days, I guess. I should start marketing myself that way. STEP RIGHT UP AND SEE TRIXIE'S FLAT PUSSY! Actually, my pussy is not as flat as it looks, though. It's just the quality of the webcam show action and lighting that fucks up the dimensions.
Speaking of the hair removal, I still got a handful of "compliments" on my supposedly still-hairy pussy, even though the actual vulva is now shaved. Seriously? That pussy looks hairy? Color me confused. That is like confusing a mustache with a beard. No, it's like confusing SIDEBURNS with a beard.
I'm also working on overhauling the free area of my site and eventually this blog so it takes advantage of the added space of larger displays and everything is, at the very least, color coordinated. Here's a peek at the unfinished "clean tour" (an alternative promotional design made especially for affiliates promoting the site who don't want any links to ANYTHING except the join page to maximize their chance of making a sale; the regular free area will look a little different and, of course, have lots of links leading off site).
After spending many hours on this on top of recently designing a site for my brother-in-law, I started feeling REALLY DISCOURAGED yesterday. Part of me really enjoys doing this kind of work (sometime after I get started and things start to come together to look pretty, but BEFORE I actually get SO SICK OF IT and SO AWARE OF MY LACK OF DESIGN ABILITIES that I never really wind up with a polished end result). At the end of all of my dogged and painstaking efforts, I still wind up with sites that look like that guy's pickup truck outfitted with the WRONG SIZE canopy. If my web designs were dresses on Project Runway I would be the one who'd get aufed for not hemming it. It just doesn't look FINISHED - it's poorly constructed! Did you just GLUE that seam together??
Part of me is pretty happy with my skill level as a webmaster; it's not really a job I even WANT to be *great* at; I'm proud of being mediocre. On the other hand, if I could stop time and take a month off to learn some of the things I don't know but WANT to know, I totally would. In a perfect (but realistic) world (where you can't actually stop time or don't have skill points like in a video game where you can buy yourself new abilities once you've proceeded far enough into the game) I would have the money to hire real webmasters and programmers to collaborate with and carry out my vision(s). I am damned fucking ready to arrive in that world so I need to work through my moments of impatience with myself and the necessity of doing these things myself so that I can get there. Eventually, I trust it will happen. I just need to work, work, work. And not scream at myself.
In the new incarnation of the free area of TastyTrixie.com I'm going to have a "help wanted" section with some specific jobs for people that I can currently barter for (example: someone installs back end scripts I don't want to muddle through on one of my sites, they get a free membership). I have realized with design, though, that I am *just* confident enough in myself that I prefer doing things in my own inefficient way if I'm not able to afford to pay someone to do things EXACTLY how I want them or guaranteed to be better than I imagined. One of my (not so good) personality traits is that I really don't like "wasting" time giving people positive feedback and being all touchy-feely; I do not make a nice boss. I just want to tell someone what to do, speak in an efficient manner about how to do it, be able to rely on it getting done on time, and not worry about someone's feelings getting hurt. I don't like having to invest a lot of emotional energy into getting something done. Knowing that, I just prefer to do things myself or to look forward to being able to compensate someone for doing them for me AND putting up with my bitch ass. When I am overwhelmed with things I want to do (work things), I sort of resent socializing. It feels like a depressing, energy-sucking obligation which is why I usually steer clear of barter arrangements and such -- the social aspect of making the arrangement and the give/take do not appeal to me. I would rather just fumble through something myself than have to, like, TALK to someone.
We started watching Touching the Void while we ate lunch yesterday and I'm just trying to remind myself that if those fuckers could get off that motherfucking mountain alive, there's no excuse for me whining and crying over what I have left to do to make our sites look more presentable.
Now I am going to get some exercise, take a shower and go get my feet rubbed and toenails painted. I need to get out of my head. Later we're going to try to do a couple of shoots. Tomorrow we're going to the fertility clinic for Delia's last sperm deposit and I'll probably make an appointment to try to find out if something inside me is preventing me from getting pregnant (my period just started yesterday, by the way).
4. Use your graphics programme of choice to throw them together, and post the result.
I would LOVE to own mine (but would HATE to know any of my band's fans):
You know the drummer is very handy with the brushes and wears thick black-framed glasses, while the bass player's beret stinks of dandruff and ashes. Nary a coherent sentence passes between any of them. The best part is that Angelo Badalamenti has taken a very special interest in them, and it shows on this album.
Though the storms interfered with my ability to do shows today, we re-channeled that energy into doing a photo/video shoot involving me in sheer panties sitting astride Delia and giving her (and the camera) a good rear view:
We shot this in our bedroom (nothing fancy) so I decided to turn off the audio on the one bedroom spycam that has it (actually, I didn't realize it wasn't even logged in at the time, but the two without audio were still up so that's good). Some camgirls like to let voyeurs spy on their shoots, but I often have reservations about it. For one thing, I sometimes worry it will spoil the "surprise" of the content when I post it. For another, I think it interferes with the fantasy; when you see all of the awkwardness that goes into a photo/video shoot and/or hear all of the technical components of it I think it's a mood-killer. There are a lot of interruptions to pause for the camera's focus, to adjust the angles, to check on the progress to see if it looks halfway like what you want it to look like, to make bossy demands of each other, etc. And that's just for a very amateur mid-quality shoot.
I know it sounds funny to hear me worrying about destroying "the fantasy" of porn since I make a habit of purposely doing exactly that on our sites by burping, farting, and explicitly reminding people of the boundaries between reality and fantasy (and demonstrating that most of the stuff on our spycams is ugly and/or boring and/or hilarious reality). On the other hand, when we shoot video -- ESPECIALLY video I know will be jerk-worthy -- I want people to be able to enjoy its hotness without thinking about how we argued over the lighting or how I had to stop for a minute and howl because I got a cramp in my leg or how we struggled for five minutes to engineer our body positions so that the camcorder would have a good view. I do think that stuff is interesting so I don't always censor these things, but sometimes I just want people to be able to focus on the end result and don't want to hotness of the product to be compromised by memories of the shoot itself.
In order for the sex video to feel as real and genuine as possible, you sometimes need to censor out the artifice of how it came to be recorded. Sex on tape by definition can never be a completely natural depiction of the real thing; instead you have to decide which very-real, very-hot elements of reality you want to capture and go through a process that eliminates as much of the artificial distractions as possible. We do have funny behind the scenes stuff and a lot of honest portrayals of our work and our selves that expose the artifice instead of pretending it doesn't exist, but sometimes I just want to wind up with something pure. Something that focuses on things I think are really fucking hot: my ass, sheer panties, cock in my pussy and cum on my butt.
JOIN HERE to access our spycams & complete photo & video archives.
One of the best gifts I could ever get for Christmas is a job well done: work I am happy to look at and share with other people. For this shoot I got to dress up in snowy ice queen garb, all while enjoying our fabulous pink tree. I got to incorporate three things I've had tucked away in hiding far too long: the silvery Diab'less leopard-print coat I paid "too much" for (and now must insist that I wear instead of leaving it hanging unloved in the closet for months on end), long PVC gloves and those whorey bosslady heels. And I am in LOVE with how pale my skin is to the point of looking bluish:
I'm especially thankful for Delia who not only takes my pictures and all that jazz, but puts up with my bullshit. She was really tired yesterday but got everything set up for the shoot AND endured me freaking out because I couldn't find my black waist cincher and insisted she go look for it amongst her own garb. Of course, it was in one of MY drawers, exactly where I first looked for it; I just didn't dig quite deep enough. My hissy fit could have cast a pall over the entire operation, but instead I wound up having a grand time and we captured a great set of photos to share with our members for Christmas. Yay!
I made a lot of appointments this week to take care of things we've been neglecting. We both got our hair done (roots be gone!) AND went to the dentist. Neither of us has been in over five years; we've given our dog better dental attention than ourselves. I shouldn't be surprised, but I have a whole bunch of cavities that need to be filled. Once upon a time I was obsessive about brushing my teeth (I think I only had one tiny cavity/filling until I was out of high school) but not so much anymore; our estimate for work needed is over three thousand dollars between the two of us.
I also used some of my personal webwhore earnings to get not one, but TWO massages. I found the most promising (yet least expensive) advertised therapists and gave them a whirl that was WELL worth the $100 I spent for 2.5 hours of blissful therapeutic touch. More on that later, though. I'm going to take a bath, then put the finishing touches on this gallery for members.
Delia had a sperm deposit to make in Seattle on Thursday. On our way to catch the ferry, we stopped for Chicken McNuggets on Bainbridge Island. I went inside quickly while Delia waited in the car and thought I saw an old familiar face of someone I fucked (and adored) years ago: Brian the Cop. I only saw him briefly out of the corner of my eye sitting at a table in back with some other men and dismissed the feeling of recognition to hurry and fill up our pop and get on our way so we wouldn't miss our boat. When I went back outside and noticed a police car with K-9 Unit written all over it, I realized it really must have been him and became GIDDY remembering how senselessly attracted I was to him.
This past year I've thought a lot about my promiscuous post-divorce adventures and the guys I met through a mutual interest in sex. I've thought about how they were all pretty decent fellows and that I was lucky to cross paths with them. I've thought about how unfairly mean and dismissive I was to some of them in my retarded early blog posts. I didn't have much in common with most of them, but I did like them and I feel even more fond of them now that they're cute little memories I can wonder about and wish well from a distance.
As I get older, I also feel guiltier and more conscious of some things I've done (or failed to do) that were idiotic, insensitive, unforgivably horrid, self-indulgent and/or just plain embarrassing. In fact, just the day or two before the Brian sighting I was spanking myself internally with mortification over the memory of how my retarded and unjustifiable infatuation with Brian the Cop led me to make my sorta-girlfriend at the time cry. I was inexcusably mean and stupid, and I enjoyed the whole fantastically dramatic mess.
Seeing him again, albeit fleetingly, made me forgive myself. He's stupid, I'm stupid -- we're all stupid. And beautiful. It doesn't matter what a goon the guy was, it WORKED for me and it's just not human to deny that some people electrify your insides in spite of how wrong they are for you. I'm thankful I never got the chance to completely ruin my life over someone like that and feel blessed that I got to enjoy the silly thrill of it all.
He was 6'4" and his penis was on the small side. He was a premature ejaculator and he had this song playing on his website. He was big and hairy and ridiculous and I loved every lie he told me. When I expressed interest in humping his assault rifle, he followed through and brought it over for me. Though I loved seeing its sexy blackness laying on my bed, I had to admit with disappointment that it wasn't designed for humping and that his hand and small penis were much better suited to my genitals.
I grinned like an idiot all the way to the ferry terminal and chuckled to myself over the bad fucking joke of it all. While we waited for the boat to arrive, Delia left the car to go to the bathroom and I looked around the holding area wondering if I'd see Brian jump out with one of his big German Shepherds to sniff out drugs and terrorists. I wanted to see him again without him seeing me.
I got distracted from thoughts of Brian when I saw a beautiful brunette woman in the distance and immediately felt a pang of attraction, that "WHO is THAT?!?" moment, before realizing a split second later that I actually knew her, too!
It was Delia coming back from the bathroom. Lucky, lucky, lucky times three (billion) because that woman in the distance is my girlfriend and it's no accident she's walking towards me.
A screen capture from WebWhoreHQ cam (this is what I look like right now):
Don't my boobs look . . . flat, elongated and shapeless? Don't I look like a someone with no sense of style who does love the color red and is trying unsuccessfully to have a presentable "look"? Don't I look like the kind of person who would enjoy contentedly explaining that she doesn't personally relate to the notion of gender as identity-shaping?
Do I look like I'm living a glamorous life? Do I look like a pornographer/camgirl/webwhore? Do I look like I even have a sexual life?
This would be a perfect moment to blog about a bunch of things I like to mull over and have been thinking about (and experiencing) a lot lately: aspiring to ugliness, aging, shapeshifting, the sexuality of pregnancy, my plans for my future as a working, evolving webwhore, etc. But I'm just going to continue on my contented way back into bed wearing my dorky flannel and fleece, living the good old American life.
I think we're going to fuck tonight, see.
And I think there's nothing more provocative or challenging than a woman who appears unsexy or sexless having really fantastic sex, or even enjoying just mediocre, regular sex. And having people pay to watch and listen to her do it. It's almost revolutionary, I think.
This is what I look like (right now). This is part of who I am. This is more "me" than Trixie in stockings, Trixie in corset, or Trixie in . . . wait a second, Trixie in red dress with white polka dots is as much me as fleece and flannel me is. Dual Trixie.
Haven't had sex all week except with my hitachi magic wand. Not complaining about that. But am looking forward to a nice roll in the hay tonight. Had wonderful kissing session with trans girlfriend today. I'm very happy.
I wonder how many beautiful women can say the same. I wonder how many of them would envy me versus how many would pity me my life/style.
Just wondering, not guessing. Very capable of amusing myself without reaching any conclusion. I am (and think that I look like) a woman who can amuse herself. Easily. It's called imagination, bralessness, and a forgiving elastic waistband in my pajama bottoms that allows my mind to wander free from the distraction of discomfort.
Not the greatest-looking video, but here was our excitement for yesterday:
The brightness of the sun was totally trippy:
None of it (the snow) accumulated on the ground; it started to today, but as soon as I sent an email to voyeurs on one site to take a look at the snow falling on our outside-view cam, it turned to rain. Now it's just windy.
My goals for today are to get as much blogging as possible done and have a down-to-business meeting with Delia for us to get on track and set our goals and agenda for the week. I'm also going to try to edit and post one or two behind-the-scenes videos for the SpyOnUs.com members-only area, including a little bit higher-quality snow footage (I know, really exciting, right?).
Every sex toy connoisseur should have a glass toy. If my video (see below) doesn't convince you, perhaps this review of my first glass toy, Blue G-Spot Pleasure Swirl, will.
A lot of people love glass toys just because they're so pretty; there's a reason for the note on this one that it won't stand up on it's own: because people love to display them like they're Chihulys. Mine reminds me how much I loved marbles when I was little, not to shoot, but to hold and inspect. I would project myself into those little spheres like they were snowglobes of other planets or little mermaid shelters. The weight of the glass and the colorful ribbons and swirls inside are so pleasurable to hold and peer into.
The sexiest reason to love glass toys is that they're HARD: when you're stimulating your g-spot or prostate, you want something firm with no give, and something that gives you enough leverage to put a high level of pressure on the right spot; this toy does that with the glass and a nice amount of length to get a good grip and really grind. I've found that it also helps to have a toy with a pronounced curve if you want to really work on your g-spot and unfortunately, my first glass toy doesn't have enough of an angle for me to say it's absolutely PERFECT for that task. I still made it work, of course, because I'm a pro (haha), but for vaginal penetration and g-spot stimulation, I think I'd prefer something like THIS (with full curve) or this beauty (in a delicious large).
Not only do those toys have more pronounced curves, they have bigger, more bulbous heads which I also prefer for working over my g-spot; it's not that I need or want a huge phallus (in my next toy review you'll see that just a little bit bigger can be TOO big) but I do like a little more popping action from a dildo when I'm masturbating and more surface area for stimulating my g-spot.
After trying it out on my pussy, I decided this toy is actually the perfect size for my ass. Here, let me show you:
Video taken from webcam show archive, hence the low quality.
As many of you know, I'm not a big double penetration fanatic, but this dildo would be perfect for reaching around and sliding up my butt while Delia's cock fucks my pussy; the shaft is long enough to not require too much contortion and the straightness of the toy means she'd probably be able to feel it really well while she's inside of me.
I feel compelled to mention some of the "boring", practical reasons people (especially women) love glass toys: they're non-porous, easy to thoroughly clean, great for people with allergies, shifty pH balances, or sensitivities to chemicals (which most cheap sex toys have), and they're compatible with all lubes (unlike many silicone toys which go gloopy if you use them with silicone lubes). Glass toys are on the expensive side, but they have a long life: they won't get discolored, they won't melt in the sun, they won't tear or get bent out of shape and I have never heard of anyone chipping, breaking or shattering a glass toy either; that is saying something since I'm in an industry where people share this kind of information and talk to each other about their favorite toys, their biggest toy failures, and their sex toy accidents. We really USE our toys often and put them through a lot of abuse -- we've all dropped toys during webcam shows and shoots so none of us want anything even remotely fragile. In fact, I know a couple of chicks with their own sites who use glass toys almost exclusively -- not just because they're pretty but because they prefer the way they feel and that they're made with a safe material that doesn't give them a chemical burn.
You might wonder why I haven't reviewed my first glass toy's efficacy for clitoral stimulation; that's because I mostly use vibrators when I masturbate my clit (which means the ENTIRE network of nerves; as you saw in the video I can put my magic wand above the head of my clit and get a trickle-down effect). If I weren't so lazy, though, I'd say a glass toy of any kind would be great all lubed up and stroking a clit, especially if you were watching yourself in a mirror (yes, I like watching myself, specifically my pussy, while I masturbate); if I still lived alone, I'm sure I'd do exactly that. I would hold the glass dildo by the shaft, aim the lube-heavy head downwards, placing it just above my clit, then I'd slide the head down over my clit and up, down and up, repeatedly. I think this would work especially well with legs closed, and in this case the smaller girth and less bulbous head would work perfectly nestled between chubby labia, sliding up and down over my clit. The smooth surface of the glass is great because there's no drag with lube and you can also heat and chill glass toys.
Long story short: I can't wait to add more glass to my toybox!
Due to disturbing problems with our neighbors we're giving serious consideration to moving, if not now then when the weather warms up. The trouble is we LOVE where we live. We just don't love that our neighbors live here, too.
That's our backyard. It looks like there are no neighbors, right? And there aren't, at least not on that side. That is the south side, the sunny side, the side that warms our souls. But turn the other direction to look north and you've got the dark side, the shady side . . . the side adorned with decaying mattresses and dramatized by domestic violence.
Growing up on the once-rural eastside of Seattle I was steeped in overcast dampness and have always loved mossy shadows, rain, and all of the other things people think are dark and depressing. Though I still live in Washington at a point still considered near Seattle, we live in a micro-climate that suffers from very little cloud cover. Some people call it The Blue Hole.
After five years of living here I'm finally getting addicted to the sun. This is the third house we've lived in together here, but it's the first with really phenomenal southern exposure coupled with huge south-facing windows. Though it's colder here than where I grew up, it's hardly ever gloomy and is often sunny.
This might be the first year of my life when I've really felt gloomy about the days getting depressingly shorter so I am *loathe* to leave this house with its vacation-room, a room with a wall of window heated by southern sunshine. November, December, January, February -- it actually gets HOT during daylight hours in this room during these months without even turning on the baseboard. It's like magic, totally defying everything I grew up knowing about Western Washington. I can go there for an hour a day to sunbathe in brilliant light and lazily read summertime fiction; it has a holodeck quality that I just can't give up, even if it means staying next door to a volatile woman and her abusive convict boyfriend.
Maybe when the days start getting longer again I'll be able to say goodbye to the stunningly perfect location and southern light we have here, but I've been so spoiled by it that the concept of "southern exposure" as a desirable real estate characteristic is no longer just something to wishlist, it's become a necessity. I don't know if I can ever live without it again so long as we stay in the Pacific Northwest.
I'd love to rant in more specific detail about our neighbors, but it's been so exhausting dealing with them that I've not wanted to rehash it in blog form. Yet. Someday? Hope so.
Those of you who hate the automated loudtwitter posts? I am going to take them off and stop having them post here. Feel free to comment more if you have thoughts about the whole twitter phenom or preferences about how/where I use it.
Here's an image to preview from the gallery I'm posting today for members:
I *love* this gallery; people might think it's just a belated Halloween thing, but it's not at all -- it's, like, a METAPHOR man! For, like, so much heavy stuff, dude! And the video? Oh so kinky. Delia had a hard time even looking at me, I was creeping her out so much.
Anyway, I've got a show to do in a couple of hours so I'm going to eat some breakfast and get all dolled up, if you know what I mean.
They had crabs and even octopuses, but I chose this one for the colors (and because the octopus looked too cramped and large for her little ball and it made me feel claustrophobic seeing her miniature plastic form that way):
Maybe you've heard me mention how therapeutic bouncing a rubber ball can be, or maybe you've seen me doing it on cam. It's something I've only discovered recently, and I should do it more often -- it's very meditative and extremely useful for a person with my kind of brain wiring.
It soothes me and allows me to focus; there's not enough time in between bounces for me to daydream much. It's rhythmic, tactile, beautiful to watch and even lovely to hear when you're the one making the bouncing noises happen. I can physically measure gallons of tension and stress draining out of my pores and my focus getting sharper. It's like each bounce clears away some fog and dispels blobs of blur.
I love the big glitter and the old-fashioned blue. The simple, effective depth conveyed in this small, palmable sphere. I love how resilient it feels and how defiantly plucky it sounds. It bounces off the floor in wildly unpredictable directions.
I didn't take a picture of it, but there's a whole other look on the other side of the ball with the starfish showing a pale underbelly against a murkier background. It's like the intimate morning-after without-makeup look, nude, inside the starfish bedroom.
Watering a tender, fuzzy little plant you've neglected until its dirt dried out, then seeing it spring back to wet-rooted life in an hour to the point where it looks as though its leaves and stems are levitating and dancing in midair -- that feels like forgiveness.
You can fuck up so bad, and still there is someone or something alive that's resilient enough to endure you, thank you and forgive you.
Delia brought home this little pincushion plant as a present for ME even though it's HER birthday. Even though I was the one being an asshole.
The witch in the background was also a gift from her to me.
I think I pulled a muscle in my chest shooting last night!
We didn't shoot as many sets as we hoped, but I'm fond of what we did accomplish and excited about showing off the results, which we'll post on or before Halloween.
I'm less enthusiastic about the new stretch marks I'm finding and my turkey wattle neck. DAMN you, McDonald's! DAMN you, sedentary lifestyle! Actually, hold that thought . . . I love my sedentary lifestyle. I just need to step out of it more often. Or at least accept that if I wanted to be "in shape", I would be. Clearly I don't care very much or I'd be more motivated to do something about it. My neck looks 53 years old in 75% of the pics from this set.
I'd love to be going blog-wild and posting more/better entries, it just hasn't been working out that way. I think I'm on the verge of a shift, though.
I love that most of my outfit was given to me by cool women. My sister bought the pants for me after getting sick of seeing me wear the same pair of jeans for five years, and the strapon dildo and harness were keepers from the filming of Dacia's movie, The Bi Apple (if you're only interested in seeing our scene and want to do it now, check here; our scene together is two, and Tucker's scene with Antonio is three; of course, if you do that you'll miss out on the "behind the scenes" stuff on the dvd which I think are really embarrassing to watch, but I WAS heralded the "star of the BTS" so you might want to check it if you're interested).
Every so often I do get feedback from people who happen across one of my live shows and recognize me enough to ask if I was in The Bi Apple or Sin Cities. It's bizarre to have people ask if I'm REALLY that chick they saw on TV, but considering the roles in question as poorly-acted zombie-wives and ass-licker/fuckers I can only respond with the utmost in humility. You can't let yourself get a swelled head over this stuff, you know? Even though some of the choicest bits were left on the cutting room floor . . .
To say that I'm really fond of the gallery we just shot would be an understatement. Sample:
I can't wait to edit these pics and post them for members. It's also one hell of a beautiful day, which makes shooting a great pleasure:
Beautiful or not, it's still fall and getting pretty nippy out. Delia's fingers were really cold by the time we got done, and she endured a lot in between lying on the soggy ground to get certain shots and listening to me harangue her about how I wanted her to shoot them.
It's pretty much dinnertime here, so Delia's deviling some eggs -- I can't wait to gobble them up! Later we'll take another stab at babymaking, viewable/audible to members on our spycams, of course. I'm actually lurking in our chatroom right now in case anyone feels like popping in, but so far no one has so I'll keep editing pics until my hunger interferes too much.