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 tossed and turned for hours last night and eventually got really aroused so I woke Delia up slowly by playing with her nipples, first over her shirt and then under her shirt. Then I rearranged her arm, spreading it out along my pillow so I could nestle against her and start sucking her tits, moving my hand down to play with her cock (which I eventually sucked too, but just a little because mostly I wanted to fuck her).
Almost every single doorknob in this house is busted or only half-works, including the one to our bedroom. With the windows open in the house all night to keep us cool in the warm weather, our bedroom door gets sucked open and slammed shut. Last night a phantom breeze opened so I let it stay that way even though my mom was asleep in our guestroom down the hall. I knew she wouldn't wake up, but still tried to be quiet. For once it was Delia instead of me who couldn't be quiet. Her boobs are SO sensitive.
Sometimes when I can't make noise during sex it sucks, and other times it allows me to focus even more on the sensations I'm feeling. Like last night when I came. Hard, clamping down. And then made Delia come inside me.
I still couldn't fall asleep so I sort of meditated on the feeling of stickiness where my ass cheeks meet my thighs and smelling my pussy and her semen all mixed together on my fingers. Eventually I turned on my booklight and looked at my fingertips shining from the moisture reflecting the blue light.
We had a really nice visit with my mom who drove all the way out here spontaneously to spend a couple of days with us. It worked out well without any other family here and with the weather nice enough to get out of the house. My mom needs to have activities and I guess so do I when we're together because otherwise all of the chatting winds up getting to me. We tired her out with a long walk and before that I took out an instructional stretch DVD, one that I've given her a copy of along with a yoga mat but that she never uses (I used to call her every day to ask her if she'd done it, but it didn't help her and just seemed to make her feel guilty). I worry about her lack of flexibility because she's getting older, but mostly because I know how much better *I* feel when I spend even a little bit of time stretching on a regular basis. I wanted her to see how easy it is just to do five minutes of it without going all crazy and still get something positive out of it.
Later we got on the subject of Bea Arthur dying and my mom started crying. My mom is now the same age as the characters were on The Golden Girls. She said it seems like it was just yesterday that show was on and now Dorothy and Sophia are dead. She said it made her realize how little time she might have left -- what a small window of opportunity she has. My hypersexed mom even admits that now she sometimes gets sick of her boyfriend wanting to have as much sex as he does.
I don't know if it was because of that in part or in whole, but last night my body felt powerful and I felt younger than I have in a long time. I felt supple and juicy and ripe and full of energy. I felt like my body was tall and everything was in line. My breasts felt big and ripe and heavy and swinging. I felt like an hourglass with the top and the bottom perfectly balanced. I actually felt graceful instead of unwieldy when I climbed on top of Delia. I felt potent and came fast without getting out of breath.
I was still awake later while they were asleep. I crept around the house. I made something to eat in the kitchen. I looked at the moon mostly hidden behind the clouds and a bright planet that must have been Jupiter sparkling to the east of it.
I'm like my mom in a million ways, but unlike her in a million others. Mainly I am just younger than she is. I guess it should be hard to see my mom struggling with her own life changes and not knowing where she's going -- it IS hard -- but I also can't help celebrating, first that she seems more focused on one important thing instead of a million trivial distractions from the one thing and second, celebrating myself and where I am and what I have and all that I still have to look forward to. That my mom has challenges, but she STILL has a lot of opportunity and a lot of growth and good health to enjoy and grapple with (and I have all of that to look forward to also -- but MORE of it). That she is better off than her mom is and was at her age. And that I'm so so SO much better off than either of them were when they were mine. Inside and outside and in every conceivable way. And that makes my life and my body and where and how I'm living them feel like a huge evolving miracle that I have a RESPONSIBILITY to celebrate partially on their behalf, fucking and walking and dancing.
Have you been waiting for hot stories about our trip to Portland? While I did feel like I was in a perpetual state of arousal (shooting Delia always does that to me), the most action I got was from listening to the people fucking in the room next to ours.
At first I was nervous when they arrived while we were dirty-talking during a Delia-as-schoolgirl video and felt like they and the bellboy must have heard everything we were saying. I imagined the words "slut" and "cum" and "stop teasing me and show me what you've got in your panties!" echoing down the hallway.
Half an hour later I realized it was all good and maybe an appreciated dose of inspiration when I heard what sounded like crying on the other side of the wall. Of course, being the weird little voyeur I am, I hopped out of bed and ran to the wall to listen to a chick's rhythmic whimpers and a man moaning quietly. And "oh yeah, yeah"s.
The next day we wound up leaving our rooms at the same time they did. For some reason I'd imagined the woman was going to be an Asian girl in her early twenties -- I pictured her looking like Sierra on Dollhouse and the guy fucking her as a puffy white guy in his early thirties. Of course they didn't look like that at all. They were about five years older than we are, the woman short with dark curly hair and sharp, smart features and the guy tall and dopey with shaggy hair and a bandana.
It's weird how we populate our default images of "couples who enjoy fucking"; I'd never have conjured those two up in my imagination, but seeing them it did make sense. It was also weird riding ten flights down in the elevator with them, never acknowledging how we'd heard each other's intimate moments. I know it wasn't the kinkiest thing they'd done and it wasn't the kinkiest thing we've done, but still . . . it seems pretty kinky the way people check into hotel rooms and fuck in them and hear each other fucking in them just a few feet away, overlapping sex sounds and depositing DNA in all sorts of places that housekeeping might miss. All those boxes of hotel rooms and all the cum dumped in them by strangers. There were visible food stains on our comforter -- it looked like barbecue sauce -- and I can't help thinking about all of the remnants of human fluids from total strangers inhabiting the room. Layers and layers of spunk.
You never hear people acknowledge this weirdness of paying money to sleep and fuck where thousands of other people have fucked and jacked off. I find that very bizarre in a country where people are obsessed with sanitizing everything and showering once or twice or three times a day, but they think going to a nice hotel is like sitting in the lap of luxury instead of a germ and sperm depository. Like the people next door -- before they fucked, one or both of them took a shower. To be clean for fucking and letting total strangers listen in. It's not that I personally think hotels are disgusting cesspools of nastiness -- I realize the bedding and towels in nicer establishments are hypercleansed for our protection and I embrace germs up to a certain point -- I just think the double standards are weird with so many people being OCD about supercleaning everything and protecting themselves from germs that they never talk about hotel rooms as cum dumps.
Do you really think they sanitize the television remotes and all the little things you touch that traveling businessmen sully with semen? And how about all of those decorator pillows (especially in bed and breakfasts) that you yourself have stuffed under your bare ass during or after a fuck? Am I the only one and other people just don't fuck in bed and breakfasts or make sure to say, "no honey, not on the decorator pillow -- it will be hard for them to wash"? Personally I just think, "I wonder how many other people have gotten their fluids on this thing with the brocade upholstery." Other times I just count all the stains that remain, visible to the naked eye, like the semi-washed-out spots of blood on the bedspread at the LAST place we stayed and the crusty spots on the carpet. Or how about the blood on this wooden toilet seat (which DID totally gross me out)?
On top of the illusion of cleanliness, I'm fascinated by the illusions we have of privacy, or maybe the willingness Americans have to accept and embrace a total LACK of privacy not just in hotels but in general. I knew exactly when the people in the room next door woke up -- I could hear him draw up the mechanical shades and give her a wake-up spanking. Why don't we demand thicker walls? I'll never understand that. And security recording camera feeds of the four of us in the elevator together, pretending we didn't know how we used each other's genitals the night before.
I wonder how the couple next door expected us to look and if they were surprised by the reality of us.
Unfortunately our friend Krissy came down with a sore throat last week so we've postponed Delia's shoot with her. It will probably be better on a longer trip anyway. I do not understand how people can travel and shoot and get to appointments on time and tan and get all their nails and hair done AND visit with friends and go out and have fun -- we didn't do anything except walk around Portland and try to find reasonably-priced yet delicious places to eat (we failed most days, except I did love a certain sandwich shop in an office building with a delightfully surly cashier).
I also spent an extended amount of time lurking in the aisles of Rite Aid eavesdropping on a not-at-ALL-surly cashier being extraordinarily kind for at least ten minutes to a mentally-ill homeless woman who had a lot of questions that weren't altogether unreasonable:
Sir? Listen, sir -- you can probably tell I'm missing a lot of teeth and my mouth hurts . . . do you think this food is soft? Because that's a lot of money and I'll just be throwing it away if I can't eat it because it's too hard . . .
The guy seriously fondled the bag she handed to him and tried to explain that he couldn't make that determination because it was entirely subjective. She also had a lot of questions about pickles and cucumbers and tried to engage the man behind the counter in that age-old debate pitting sweet pickles against dill. It was heartwarming. Unfortunately I missed out on seeing someone steal a couple cases of beer the next day -- Delia was the only one who got to enjoy that scene.
Anyway, we had great weather for traveling, bought some new ponytail-holders and shot some good content. We did not go to Powell's or down the street to Mary's or visit any friends or enter any sensory deprivation tanks, though. Maybe next time.
Was it watching "ladies" figure skating last night that got me all horny? I don't know, but I couldn't sleep and tried to masturbate quietly enough not to wake up Delia, but since I was wearing earplugs myself I couldn't really tell if I was making noise or not.
The train of thoughts leading there seemed to pick up where my post about tribute jack-offs left off. I started imagining a teenager playing Yahtzee and then trying to decide which girl's face to ejaculate on in his yearbook. Then there was something about a good dog and a bad dog (I think it was a white German Shepherd) and by that time I was so worked up I took out my earplugs and asked Delia if she was awake. AND SHE TOTALLY WAS! I still don't know if she knew I was masturbating, but I stopped at that point anyway.
To reach over and fondle her boobs. I really should write a whole blog entry (or book) about Delia's New Boobs. They're pointy and swollen and puffy and my right hand goes back and forth from one to the other until I start using my mouth.
I'd love to tell you all about it but I honestly don't feel like getting all worked up again. If you're one of our members and heard it on the spycams (sorry I forgot to turn on the nightvision last night) then you know it was hot. I was shaking. We fucked and then we spooned.
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.
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!
Last night we stayed up way too late, but it was worth it to catch up a little on something we haven't had enough of lately: SEX. Watching/listening to Daniel Lanois (see below) put me into a magic place, and reaching over to feel Delia's semi-hard cock made fucking her totally irresistible. I alternated between stroking her cock and feeling her swollen, growing boobs before I got on her and came two times to her one. The whole thing was super-intense, partly because it's been a couple of weeks but mostly just because it IS.
It's super windy here today with a projected snow storm rolling in; I think we lost power last night so most of our cams went (and stayed) down until we got up. Don't be surprised if it happens some more over the next week. I *hope* it won't interfere with the shows and chat we have scheduled this weekend, but if it does? You'll know weather is the reason.
Enjoy the full moon tonight, if you can. It will probably be clouded over here.
I'm going to make myself keep exercising because it's paying off after a week of being consistent; I feel a lot better already. I did fall off the wagon yesterday and tried to tell myself getting a massage was AS GOOD as getting exercise, but sex and backrubs really aren't all that aerobic so if I want to keep feeling good, I need to do some physical work tonight.
I have galleries to post for members, but honestly I don't like them enough to post them right now so I'll put something else up and we'll shoot something better.
Reading Rachel Kramer Bussel's piece contemplating how many partner makes you promiscuous I finally started work on something I've wanted to post for members for a long time: a numbered list of all the people I've fucked or had some sort of sex with.
There are so many layers I'd like to explore that I haven't finished it yet: why I feel compelled to maintain such lists, how I feel about the numbers (and the possibilities of adding to them), the different ways such a list may be fetishized, whether less data presented in very simple form is more erotic than more data presented in detail with complete sentences in story form or even captured on video or in pictures, how making indie porn and being with Delia since 2002 has effected the numbers, how my list may or may not be different from a man's, etc.
I also wanted to dig through some of my old photos to find images of some of the people on the list which led me into the frustrating chore of trying to recover corrupted data off of a cd I burned ages ago (most of our photos are backed up in numerous places with different kinds of storage, but not these images which have sentimental value to me now). None of the photos are pornographic and I own the rights to them since I took them, but of course I'm struggling with the ethical dilemma of whether or not to share some of these images (and if so, which ones and whether or not to blur parts of them) and all of the different ways I'm justifying doing it while still feeling like it's wrong. But wanting to anyway. For the record. Which is a huge compulsion for me, wanting everything to be recorded and saved for posterity. Which I feel is very RIGHT which is part of why I follow trains of thought and say offensive things, many times at my own expense and/or the expense of others, because it represents something interesting or is an example of something that fascinates me and is thought-provoking. I am one of those assholes who acts like ideas are more important than people and that gets nasty and squats on boundaries when the ideas I like are ABOUT people.
Anyway, for those of you who are members and have been looking forward to reading the list, I apologize for underestimating how long it would take for me to get it done. I could post it now, but not without some of the context and thought I want to put in it.
My random thoughts on/responses to Rachel's piece about promiscuity:
This is SO TRUE: "Your number of partners and how "special" the sex is are not necessarily related."
Not that I think sex has to be "special" for someone to deserve to have it and be exempt from moral judgment, but it IS a way of connecting with other people, yourself and even the divine and sacred (if you're into that). It's a basic human need. A core drive. Anyway, is every meal you have "special"? No, but you still need to eat and are programmed to do it at regular intervals.
It cracks me up when many of the people who are judgmental about sex are the same people who put really bad food in their bodies every day. Food that is unhealthy, that they aren't mindful or thankful of when they eat, that they waste, that was unethically and/or immorally produced. That's WAY worse than choosing to enjoy putting a stranger's cock in your mouth. Anyone who scarfs down corn syrup, meat, chemical-laden and genetically modified food is in NO position to judge a woman for what she puts in her vagina.
*What does promiscuous mean, anyway? To me, it just means having many partners in a short time span and that's a meaningless definition since "many partners" and "short time span" are so subjective. I think promiscuity can be very healthy and don't think there should be a value judgment attached to it though I recognize THERE IS.
*15 partners is not a lot, in my book. If you're not in a long-term monogamous relationship your entire adult life (and I don't think that is more morally right than NOT being in a monogamous relationship, I'm just acknowledging that most people consider them ideal, rightly or wrongly, and you have more opportunities to fuck) and you're only averaging one new sex partner a year then . . . that pretty much sucks ass for the average human and you're definitely NOT a "slut". Its healthy to have sex at least 1-3 times a week, and if you aren't in a relationship of course you will probably have multiple partners. The UNhealthy/wrong thing to do is get into or stay in a relationship just so you can have access to socially acceptable sex. Even if you're only hooking up with a new person to have sex once a month (which is pretty fucking DRY) you'd still have twelve new partners a year.
*I agree that the double standard does still exist and the pressure for women to not be openly promiscuous (and the response to those who are or are perceived to be) is FUCKED UP and has really scary repercussions. Namely that your worth decreases and ownership of yourself disappears the more people you fuck, making you a target for all sorts of abuse. I think its a representation of our (society's) feeling that women do not own themselves, or are only permitted to temporarily own themselves if certain conditions are met. People think that every time a woman's body is accessed by someone else that she's transferring some ownership of it, having part of her soul and dignity sucked out of her, and losing her ability to have "meaningful" relationships with other people (like her all-important future husband, the final titleholder!). Like she's becoming less human and more animal, "degrading" herself from personhood to a piece of meat, and we're told that once she "does that to herself" (fails to/refuses to meet the requirements to be human which are different for women than men and designed to make her fail because doing so would make her NOT human) it is OPEN SEASON ON HER ASS -- she asked for it. If she doesn't care about herself (and "caring for herself" actually means denying herself what she wants), why should anyone else?
It's uhhhh . . . pretty fucking crazy and yeah, I do totally believe that extreme misogyny is the foundation for all of the anti-slut sentiment (and the way most people use the word "slut").
*I don't think most people who are intimate with more than three people in their lives can actually remember who and exactly how many people they've screwed around with. Having kept track of it myself, I am positive that if I hadn't logged the information I would not remember most of the people on my list (especially since I can't easily recall a lot of the people that are on it, even with their names right there). I interact with far fewer people than most do, so if *I* can't remember people I've fucked, I'm sure people who are actually normal social creatures drop a lot of interaction, even if its sexual, from their quickly-recalled memories.
You have to be a bit of a freak of nature to know exactly how many people you've had sex with. On top of that, so many people don't qualify a lot of sexual behavior as "sex" (the whole "blowjobs don't count" thing, or "he only went down on me but we didn't actually have sex"). I just don't think you can trust most people's numbers, not only because they will lie about them on purpose but because they honestly don't remember everything or don't think of all kinds of sexual intimacy as "SEX".
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 people make fun of The Golden Girls I always experience a wave of cognitive dissonance; they dismiss it as something "old" and irrelevantly feminine when I never did and WILL never perceive it that way at all. For me? The Golden Girls was a groundbreakingly progressive, hysterically funny, humanist show. Sitcom television at its very best next to a few others on my list: Laverne & Shirley, The Office, Married with Children and maybe a couple others. In terms of sitcoms having a major inspiring influence on me, The Golden Girls might actually be unparalleled (Laverne & Shirley would be a second, though).
I watched this show with my grandparents and at the time didn't even realize how dirty, biting and often macabre the jokes were. I watch this show NOW and am amazed by how edgy it STILL is. To me, a pornographer. Suicide Girls? NOT edgy. Sex and the City? Not really edgy. Golden Girls? YOU CAN'T TOUCH THEIR EDGINESS! You can always count on Rose for some naively delivered bestiality stories or to be fucking a midget or a dead guy. One of The Golden Girls fucks a new guy in every episode, but not in that hyperfocused SATC way.
I'm guessing people who mock The Golden Girls have never watched it. If so, the reasons they mock it are telling; it MUST be bad if it's about old people and ESPECIALLY bad if it's about old people who are WOMEN. I can't abide anyone who doesn't appreciate The Golden Girls or dismisses that show with a condescending chuckle. It's like a slap in the face from someone with really bad aim; it doesn't physically hurt, but it makes my blood boil.
When we went to see Sex and the City the movie we all discussed which girl we are or which one other people think we're most like. And you know what? I'D RATHER BE A FUCKING GOLDEN GIRL. And I don't mean that as a huge dis to SATC, I really mean The Golden Girls are my idols. I believe that show was more proactively feminist than anything on network television. EVER. When I grow up? I want to be a Golden Girl. I can barely think of a higher aspiration.
Okay, sex with Jimi Hendrix is definitely the stuff fantasies are made of so I'm definitely curious about seeing his purported sex tape with two chicks. Looking at the preview video, I'm not convinced it's him (the face the guy's making looks like someone doing a comedy skit) but as a chick the mere IDEA or suggestion of fucking Jimi Hendrix is enough to send me into a groovy orgasmic hallucination. I'm almost afraid to watch it and have the fantasy ruined; I'm not the only person to feel that way, either.
I also have mixed feelings about the women in the video who are not identified and if the film *is* authentic/wasn't staged (which I doubt), it's kind of gross that the women apparently haven't been identified meaning they're likely to still be alive but they haven't given consent and won't be compensated, and we in the porn industry will be making money off of them since they're the ones front and center in the video, with "Jimi" only making brief appearances. While their anonymity facilitates fantasizing about sex with him, it makes me uncomfortable the way they're being discusses by the press as non-entities.
Living in Western Washington my whole life, there are basically three Elvises: Elvis (duh), Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain. And two of them are the stuff of sex dreams.
Hmmm. . . maybe an Elvis & Jimi threesome? Or would that be too much . . .
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.
Whenever I feel badly for our members watching our spycams seeing us having awkward lazy sex, I can soothe myself by simply watch this video of Gene Simmons and a bored blonde in flip-flops going through the motions of sexual intercourse.
Do celebrities not know how to fuck? I'd hate to see how bad the sex is that they have when they're OFF camera.
Good job on the condom and the candles, though. For a moment when he was unwrapping the rubber I thought maybe he was actually taking out money and counting it for her; losing that glimmer of hope was more disappointing to me than seeing the average-sized penis (which wasn't a big surprise given the overcompensation with the tongue).
So The Bi Apple didn't win last night, but we had sex so that cushioned the blow (okay, having sex last night had nothing to do with the awards, but I'm trying to make meaningless connections here so bear with me).
On another positive side of groundbreaking, one of the other cool things about being in that movie is that it featured real-life couples like us (and my partner just happened to also come in handy for a guy-guy scene in addition to the one we did together ;-). I feel like pointing out that we met each other over six years ago; in September we'll have been living together for that many years. Since I was ranting about conservative attitudes towards sexuality, I feel like pointing out that as more-than-BIsexuals, as pornographers, as people with spycams, and as people who sometimes have sex with other people we have, I think, an enviably solid relationship. On top of all of those things that conservative people would consider threats to a healthy relationship, my partner doesn't identify as the same gender she presented as when I met him. Suck on that! And yes, I'm messing with her pronouns on purpose.
The funny part is that I feel like our relationship IS pretty conservative; I don't feel like our lives are wild and crazy at all. If all of those alternative-lifestyle-sounding labels fell off of us or were invisible to people, I think the the average conservative couple would look at us as shining examples of what a long-term relationship (or marriage, even though we're not) should be. But happier.
I feel like we have all of the best parts of an old-fashioned relationship; we run our own little business together and have probably spent MAYBE 30 nights apart from each other TOPS since we've been living together. It's not that we don't like spending time alone (we do that too), but we are pretty tight when the end of the day rolls around. I'm not saying our relationship has been without challenges, just that the assumptions many people would make about the health of our relationship based on our sexual preferences, gender identities, and work are probably a lot different from the reality (the reality being that we have the best, most normal, and healthiest relationship of almost every couple I know).
At the moment I am in the evil throes of PMS, so if you hear me swearing even more than usual on cam, see me looking even sloppier than usual, or notice me ripping out my hair DON'T WORRY; it will pass.
Reminder: if you miss reading the more mundane details of my daily life, you can stay up-to-the-minute with me by following my twitter OR check the daily rundown of my tweets on DailyTrixie.
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!
It's been a long time since I participated in one of these sex-blog circle-jerks; I'm surprising myself by posting the entire list since a lot of the ones I thought were really great or worthwhile did not earn top props -- I'm sort of amazed at how many fantastic sex bloggers are out there, not all of them my cup of tea but a lot of them ARE. Those of you who've found my own blogging less sexy than in the good old days might find some new favorites amongst the links collected here:
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants:
This Week’s Picks:
A Fable “They start touching her, gingerly at first, wondering what magic is in her.”
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.
Heads up if you want to keep an eye on our spycams tonight: we've got fucking on the agenda! I've been going crazy, having vivid sex dreams and masturbating, etc. Yesterday during one of my webcam shows I thought I was going to orgasm just from SEEING my clit.
I'm working on promo galleries for Delia's site right now, it's been snowing a little bit, and my sister is cooking boca burgers with lots of extra mushrooms, etc. We've had to veil and take down some of our cams while they're visiting because of my nephew being here. It's worth it (for us), though.
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.
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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.
Well, we *were* going to go to a wild sex party. And not at one of those poorly-decorated swinger pads, (aka Why I am not a Swinger) either. This event is at a hip hotel (in a city requiring about eight hours each way of travel time for us) with an informed-Goth theme and many creatively nerdy/sexy rules and themed play areas. FYI: Delia and I have never gone to a wild sex party together. Yes, we're pornographers and all, but we're almost completely hermitlike and monogamous. We aren't deeply committed to being so solitary, we're just homebodies and it happens to work out that way; too lazy to fuck other people, it seems.
We were actually looking forward to this party, though, which is why we decided to go against our better judgment. It wasn't the whips, potential sex with strangers, or squirting bodily fluids worrying us . . . it was Who's going to take care of the dog while we're out of state? Is our house going to be okay while we're gone with our dumb-ass neighbor's thieving, abusive boyfriend right next door casing the joint? Can we really afford to take a trip, even a small one, right now? How are we going to make up for taking time off when we also have Delia's sperm deposit appointment in Seattle next week? Are we going to be able to enjoy Delia's birthday/Halloween with all of this time and money spent away? Is my period going to start while we're there? If not, am I going to be suffering so horribly from PMS that I'm an absolute horror to be around? How are four people going to get ready for a costume party in one bathroom?
So we changed our minds and decided to stay home. I feel really badly about it because our friends Torn and Toni invited us and upgraded their room to make a place for us to stay. I like to think I'm a person who guiltlessly says "no", but I think I'm deceiving myself about that because I often do feel anxious about turning down opportunities. I can't let myself feel TOO badly about it, though, because I know I'm making the right decision. Still, I'm always afraid people are going to stop asking us to do things because a) I rarely say yes, and b) I act like THIS regardless.
A big obstacle for me right now in making social time happen is that spending time with my family is a higher priority, and I haven't seen my nephew this entire month; I hate that I'm missing seeing him grow and change. I also haven't seen my mom who is leaving Friday on a trip to Austin and going to be gone for a couple of weeks. And I haven't finished building my brother-in-law's website. As you may have gathered from this post, I really REALLY want to spend more time with my family, so while it's still a challenge to spend lots of time with them, I have a hard time justifying taking trips and time off to not spend time with them.
I also have come to accept something about myself; while I do love people and spending time with them, it's hardly ever "time off" for me. In fact, it tires me out. If I'm going to spend a day with people, I usually need to spend the day after by myself/just with Delia, vegging out to recuperate. Time off, for me, means limiting stimuli. Reading, spacing out, and umm, even doing work is usually more like time off for me than socializing. If I don't recuperate from socializing, I'm pretty fucking useless and next week? We just won't have time to laze around mending my hyperextended social muscles.
I'm also getting really frustrated with our baby-making "project"; my energy feels really preoccupied with that and focused on limiting distractions. I seriously don't know how much longer I can handle being off the pill (or not pumped up on femme pregnancy hormones), because my PMS is sinking me to low points I'd rather not scrape.
So, our plans have changed for this weekend. We *will* still be gone Friday night and perhaps much of Saturday to visit my sister/nephew/brother-in-law since we won't just be using it as a launching pad for party travel. I'm going to keep my shows canceled and use that time to plan Halloween and Delia's birthday or, an alternate plan is that we'll rent a room Sunday night to do some shooting. We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll just lie on the couch in a PMS funk.
Today we have to do some shooting. I feel anxious and depressed and it sucks, but not so bad that I don't realize it will pass.
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.
The weather is now gloriously cooler and damper than when we shot these pics, which are my last bonafide summer photos for 2007:
So, what have I been up to?
*Tweeting instead of blogging (though I've actually been laboring for a week over a blog entry involving scary pussy pics; I'll post it one of these days, but both the writing and the topic are near-tragic)
*Setting up our cool new schedule for fans of our shows and spycams; it's a google calendar and a much better way to communicate exactly where and when we'll be "performing" since we appear on more than ten different sites regularly (three spycam sites, three cam show networks, and an assortment of venues for private shows and phone sex).
*Fucking (we are still trying to get pregnant, and it's consuming a sort of big area of my attention especially since it's connected to Delia's transition; she/we had her last therapy appointment to get the go-ahead for a report to an endocrinologist recommending her for hormones; if we don't get pregnant now, or even if we do, we also want to have some of her sperm frozen which is a whole project in itself requiring money, research, and determining what her sperm count is in the first place). I'll write more about that in other blogs and post links when I do.
*Doing fun camshows and chat sessions while also suffering a moderately nasty weekend headache which I've decided to blame on Celestial Seasonings Roastaroma tea, which I LOVE but inexplicably (and perhaps only coincidentally) winds up with me having a migraine the day after I drink a cup.
*Housecleaning (a soul-sucking yet mildly gratifying labor after you invest enough hours into it and stay focused on one thing at a time); we have fresh flannels on our bed, a clean mossy-green wet-autumn-colored comforter, and my nightstand crumbs and piles have been dispersed. The television is dusted and windexed, ready to shine the light of fall programming on our stupefied faces; I've not been this "into" television since I was ten years old and plotted my life around the tv guide when I stayed over at my grandparents' house. I just happened to pick up one of my favorite crap magazines with ads and descriptions of all the new shows popping up on the networks so I decided to try something new (because I seriously have never ever done this in my entire life): I want to watch all of the pilots, even the dumb ones that I really don't want to see. Okay, I've already failed because I'm *not* going to watch that new Frasiery newscaster show, but I am totally looking forward to Kid Nation and Dirty Sexy Money. Does anyone have any guesses as to whether the Geico caveman show is going to suck or be great? I'm one of the apparent millions who loves those commercials and am hoping they aren't just ruining a good thing making a whole series out of it. I'm very curious about how the copyrights and stuff work for that (but not curious enough to google it and actually find out who paid who what to make it happen).
*Stressing out a little about money since our extension to file our taxes expires next month. On a positive note, I feel myself gearing up for a cycle of productivity and happy hard work. I feel like I'm just coming out of a period of slack time. It's been great to feel less driven and consumed by work; I needed to slow down a little and have more lazy time. I feel ready to step up and put my nose back down to the grindstone, though. It's dysfunctional, but I do feel more excited and motivated when I'm on the brink of financial ruin (like maybe not being able to pay our 2006 taxes while I'm still making payments on 2005). I know, I know, some of you nervous nellies are aghast that we're considering creating our own small human under such dire circumstances, but seriously; the worst case scenarios are really not all that bad. And I'm not genuinely concerned "the worst" or even anything all that bad will happen. Call me crazy, but just do it in your own bubble and not in the comments because I don't want to hear it. I already know I'm insane. We don't need to discuss it.
I have a "thing" for gloves. And men wearing suspenders. And Russian dancers. So last night? I *squealed* watching Pasha doing his solo on So You Think You Can Dance. It's not on YouTube yet that I can find, so here's his mannequin dance with Lacey:
After suffering the heartbreakingly predictable loss of Pasha coupled with his hot goodbye number, we wound up fucking. It was sweet and jolly as much of our procreative sex has been. Very wholesome. Then we watched the Supernanny and I hated on the stupid bitch mom while lusting after the Supernanny because she is SO FUCKING HOT. I think Jo may be the sexiest chick on television with her multi-faceted well-rounded hotness. She's very gal-next-door, ageless, wicked role-play fodder, in-charge (yet warm), and just gorgeous. I want to wrestle lazily with her in a pool full of pudding and play with her bouncy curls.
Here are a couple of blog entries I posted with more on "what Trixie thinks is hot":
I went to a new exercise class yesterday and now I'm sore in my sides from my hips to the base of my skull. SORE, I tell you, I'm sore!
And it feels SO good!
In the middle of the night last night I woke up to feel Delia stroking my body up and down, running her fingers over and around my tits and nipples which were feeling exquisitely sensitive. Needless to say, we fucked.
Unfortunately I had a difficult time falling back to sleep after that, and what with feeling so sore and all had to make up for it with some napping which I took a wee bit too far and wound up having nightmares which is not so much fun.
I just added a new show to our lineup, starting tonight at 9 pm (Pacific) Delia and I will be prancing around WebWhore Headquarters trying on different outfits, primping in front of the mirror, and chatting in between costume changes. It's a softcore tease thing, so not a big sex show.
Non-members can see it HERE for $2 | Members can see it HERE for free.
*One full moon, visible and shining high-beam onto your bed.
*An attempt at reading a favorite book, The Mists of Avalon, again. You fail to dive in deeply but only because you feel deliciously sleepy.
*A realization that even though you're deliciously sleepy, you're not SO deliciously sleepy you can't feel the lure of the eroscillator (a clit-stimulating sex toy). In the full moonlight, you masturbate yourself to two super-fantastic orgasms.
*After being asleep for fifteen minutes, your transgendered girlfriend calls you up from a local bar to get her ride home so you put on pj pants, pick her up, and go to the store and buy some junk food. The store employees say bizarre things to one another over the intercom. Everything inside and outside the store and on the drive there and back home is surreal and wide open.
*When you get home and into bed with your junk food, your girlfriend wants to fuck. You're sleepy and only into junk food at the moment, but say that she's welcome to fuck you as long as you can just lay there and not do anything. She agrees to your proposal, you grab some lube, and not six strokes into the endeavor you realize it feels way too good to just lay there and not do anything. So you do things. A lot of things. You are on top, your girlfriend has a huge orgasm and the excitement of watching and hearing her orgasm plus the feeling of her cum sloshing around in your pussy makes YOU climax too. You remark that apparently you were in the mood after all, and a good thing too because those early orgasms with the eroscillator? They didn't do jack for your g-spot, but this fuck session totally hit the spot and rounded out the evening. To be topped only by the following:
*Your girlfriend falls asleep as you press play on a recorded episode of your favorite television show, COPS. You have the fritos, bean dip, little schoolboys (cookies!), and diet Coke all to yourself. And COPS. Plus a full moon and spooge-filled cooch. You are positively gleeful.
The ingredients for a perfect night don't necessarily carry over well into the morning. Since I didn't go to sleep until four, I didn't get enough sleep since I had to wake up early for a show. We also had some (fun) shopping to do first for some plants for a photo shoot and the yard. By the time my show was over and we started eating lunch, I had the warning signs of a migraine with major visual disturbances, so I blocked out as much light from the room and swilled down a couple of pills and more caffeine to try to ward it off. I took a nap for two hours but the left side of my head is not too happy.
I'm not sure what to blame for it (the beginning of the moon's waning phase?), but the processed salty foods, sugar and diet coke seem likely culprits. We've never been big on drinking pop, but lately have been heeding the siren song of diet Coke and now I understand why that shit is so addictive. It's truly bubbly evil in a can.
Fortunately I don't feel the urge to vomit, so things are not too bad.
While napping, I dreamt I was student teaching and also holding another straight job, but was getting all of my porn email at the school/work. I was scared because everyone was on the verge of finding out my dirty secret. My co-workers and students seemed uncomfortable around me and the principal eyed me as though a big talk was coming.
Later I was living in a cold city. My wardrobe was not appropriate for the weather, and the icy puddles were treacherous to try to cross wearing my tractionless ballet slippers. Still, I had fun sliding around on the ice in the park. I wondered to myself why I'd never been to Cleveland, and then I realized that this cold city I was in was Cincinnati, and it would be very simple for me to visit Cleveland from there. The trees were bare and the sky a thick, unmitigated grey.
We just got home from a very long excursion to my nephew's birthday party. We spent more time in the car driving and waiting for ferries than we did visiting. It was worth it, though, and most of the drive was beautiful.
Here's what I've been working on instead of blogging. It's nothing fancy yet, but then free porn giveaways traditionally haven't needed to be too fancy to be . . . inviting. I'm working on making it a tiny bit flashier (and coated with my personality) but right now I love the variety of porn on there. I'm particularly proud of the tantalizing descriptions I wrote to describe each of the galleries. I've also "tested" many of the video clips and photo sets myself to make sure they are completely satisfactory. Not all of them are, but the ones that ARE work very well (for me, at least).
I "wasted" my nap time this morning by masturbating instead. Had a nice wake-up chat with voyeurs first, then grabbed the eroscillator.
I caught up on my nap time this afternoon AFTER devouring another box of extra-dark chocolate little schoolboys, then I passed out in a chocolate coma only to be awakened by Delia coming in and giggling at the debauched scene of me in bed with little schoolboy remnants scattered all over the bed and me totally sacked out.
I've been pretty blissed out lately and it makes me lazy; I don't feel like striving, I just want to enjoy everything like an old person giving thanks at the end of her life. I just want to lay in bed and watch the birds (especially crows; I like crows) fly back and forth outside. This is the life. I just want to cuddle, fuck, masturbate, read, drink beautiful soy-creamed tea made from water boiled in our New Spanky Electric Kettle, and tell my girlfriend how much I love her.
We're going to be gone tomorrow for my nephew's birthday party Part I: the family-only event. If we're lucky and get in early enough we might also hang out briefly with Kris who is going to be in town but equally preoccupied with family affairs. She suggested we try to get in a few touristy snapshots so I might even take a shower beforehand!!
I have the most beautiful flavors swirling around in my mouth this morning: maple and brown sugar oatmeal, BLUEBERRIES (one of my favorites), and sweetened English Breakfast.
I woke up a tiny bit earlier than Delia which gave us the chance to flirt with each other in bed and decide on some morning sex. I'm not a morning person the way, say, Seska is, but I do love starting the day out with a nice fuck and a healthy orgasm to get my blood circulating.
Members/voyeurs: I'm going to do *something* chatty today, but I don't know what or when so keep your eye on the spycam schedule for late additions.
Voyeurs: if you saw me masturbating yesterday and wondered what I was reading to fan the flames, it was a little porn-story-magazine thingy featuring guy-on-guy sex. With lots of really good drawings of gigantic cocks surrounded by sensuous big lips, horny sailors, etc.
And if you saw us fucking yesterday and wondered what was on the television that was so damned erotic, it was Notes on a Scandal. Note: I am not one of those people who romanticizes or excuses real life women (especially teachers) who fuck young boys, particularly not Mary Kay Letourneau, but that's a subject for a different blog entry. Aside from the naughty hot sex scenes, I loved the wicked narration from Judi Dench's deliciously evil character. She was like a combination of John Malkovich and Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons, Snape, and Patricia Highsmith's Ripley all rolled into one nasty bit of work.
I know we're supposed to be critical of portrayals of lesbians and older women and women in general as scary unhinged monsters, but I love and celebrate Barbara Covett and her fiendishly manipulative pursuit of female companionship and sexual pleasure. She made me hot -- best movie villain I've seen in a long time.
After my show today I spent most of my time working on a new website; I'll give you more details on that tomorrow or Tuesday. I've also been really sleepy even though I got eight hours of sleep; I needed to take a couple of naps today, probably because I got no exercise yesterday as I spent many splendid hours in bed (see above) masturbating, reading and fucking.
I may be developing a (bad?) habit; Delia keeps falling asleep at night way before I'm ready to nod off so I've been reaching over to fondle her while she's sleeping. I get her cock hard in my hand and play with it until she wakes up, and then we have hot, steamy sex.
Last night I first tried getting myself off with my eroscillator. I mean, I *did* get off with it. But all that did was make me very ready to fuck and get off again, hence another episode of taking advantage of Delia in her sleep.
Fortunately, she doesn't seem to mind.
Note: I do not condone sexually touching (or touching in any way) a sleeping person who cannot give / has not given prior explicit consent that it's okay to do so. Even in a committed sexual relationship you shouldn't assume that it's okay to stroke, lick, or mount your partner when s/he is sleeping. Find out how your partner feels about it first and be prepared for him or her to change her mind about it down the road. I'm totally not joking -- this is one of those boundary issues where consent gets very blurry.
My nascent bubblegum fetish is getting bigger and bigger and BIGGER. I can't resist integrating it into my group webcam shows (as in the above image snagged by DavieUK during one of my Monday shows) and I'm beginning to crave it during (non-recorded) sex.
After my late show on Monday my g-spot was still craving action so I lured Tucker into the bedroom and climbed on top of him to rub my long-socked legs all over him. I suddenly felt like if I had some gum to chew and blow everything would be PERFECT. And then I got an urge to not only wear long socks and blow bubbles while fucking, but also to slap Tucker silly. Alas, he said he would need to be tanked to endure a slap-session and because I'd already combined in my head the gum-chewing/blowing with the face-slapping I didn't even bother getting off Tucker to go into my office for gum. Instead we had a loud and heated session of "regular" sex including some doggy-style after my orgasm. I have never had an orgasm while being fucked from behind (except with the aid of a vibrator) so even though I enjoy it and experience pleasure from it, we usually don't do it that way unless we're in extended-play mode. Unfortunately no one sent me a screen capture from that session, but I imagine those watching were too busy with other things to be copying and pasting screen grabs.
As some of you've heard already, we're going to start an ongoing contest with monthly winners for voyeurs who submit screen caps. The only reason I keep procrastinating on starting and announcing it is I feel like I need to write some tutorials for those who don't already know how to do the print screen thing. I also have some software to recommend for people to be able to automate the process and even capture video with audio. I'm sure some fellow webwhores will think it's totally irresponsible of me to teach viewers how to archive our live performances and spycam moments, but I don't really have a problem with it as long as they don't try to resell them or post scads of them on message boards, etc. I actually feel like it's totally taking advantage of members to get them to record content and then send it to me so I can use it to make money. Seems like a fair trade to me when it boils down to it.
I'll be posting more bubblegum and long sock content to my members area today so if you're not sick of my bubblegum obsession, you'll be pleased.
FYI: the bubble in the above pic was blown with four or five pieces of Bazooka.
*I was in Awana as a preteen and I liked it. I loved the structure and felt like I was proving to our super-conservative neighbors that I couldn't possibly be a total heathen with my knack for memorizing bible verses. When I was in Awana the rewards were little tiny "jewels" that you put in the miniature plastic crowns that you pinned on your chest. The more jewels and crowns and shit meant the more bible verses you knew. Doesn't look like they still have those cool little crowns and jewels and stuff anymore; that's a crying shame. Wait -- I'm wrong! At least the Sparkies still have that stuff.
Tucker and I have had some great sex the past couple of days so I hope you were watching on our spycams because the next few days will be boring; we're going out of town again to do some (photo) shooting. Supposedly there's internet access at the house we're renting, but I'm not holding my breath; we'll bring a cam or two just in case, though, but the view will probably be boring since I'm not up to the challenge of wiring a whole house for cams for two nights when we need to spend that time focusing on content production, not spycams.
While Delia is webwhoring today/tonight, I'm driving her crazy with cam issues and complaining that she's not in the spycam chat. I'm sure she loves that. When I'm not busy doing that, I've been working on other stuff, eating, DDRing, and READING.
An engrossing book, finally! I was trying to take a break from true crime, but this true story of James Ellroy's mother's murder beckoned to me: My Dark Places. Yeah, the guy who wrote L.A. Confidential and The Black Dahlia, neither of which I've read (but did digest in movie form).
Having just opened the book today, I'm not too far into it yet but as a woman and sex worker (and true crime story hobbyist) I'm intrigued by the perspective of a boy who lost his mother in a brutal sex crime and then became a man making his living creating popular entertainment out of stories of -- you know -- brutal sex crimes. I suppose it's nothing new, these stories told by men of raped and murdered women, but Ellroy is a good storyteller and this particular story is incredibly personal so it's fascinating the way he starts out with such a depersonalized narrative maintaining a giant distance between his adult self, the little boy he was at the time, and his mother. I can't wait to see how it progresses.
You know how people like to point at sex workers and label them damaged goods, drawn into the sordid skin trade never by choice but always by some history of past and present victimhood? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. We do our jobs because we were sexually abused or because we've been brainwashed by pop culture into thinking we're only valuable as sex objects, blah blah blah. And we need to be rescued.
You don't hear people saying that about the James Ellroys or the cops, though, do you? Because men are not victims, they are HEROES. They turn it around and do something PRODUCTIVE with their lives, right? But sex work . . . THAT'S not productive. No, but if I were to write books with pictures of dead swollen-headed mommies that would be okay -- not damaged at all! Talented . . . rich . . . respected and admired. You can respectably write stories which are made into movies featuring mutilated skin-flick actresses and you don't have women trying to adopt you out of your life of crime and rehabilitate you into a humble-but-DECENT job (ex. flipping burgers at McDonalds, helping at a daycare in an inner city, or maybe teaching if you're smart enough) the way they would if you were a sex worker. Funny how that works, eh?
*FurryGirl is going to be on Night Calls! I don't have an actual link to it, but here's a quote from her members-only area:
I've been invited to be a call-in guest on "I've been invited to be a call-in guest on Playboy Radio's Night Calls with Ginger Lynn and Christy Canyon. (If you have Sirius satellite radio, I hope you'll be able to tune in!) They'd like to talk to me about Veg Porn and the Veg Sex Shop for Earth Day, which is Friday the 20th. It's really cool to get that level of media attention for my sites, and I'm excited about it.
Follow-up analysis: See, for some reason I can't imagine anyone thinking that these people would be healthier or more productive if they were writing books about savage woman-killings instead of making porn. It just doesn't make sense to me.
My apologies, but I planned a lovely afternoon of fucking and enjoying ourselves, but our cams are not cooperating. Scratch that -- the site hosting our cams is not cooperating. CONSTANT DISCONNECTIONS. And now the computer with our bedroom cam and all three of our cams hosted on a different site simply refuses to connect to the internet. While the lovely brunch we just cooked gets stale and cold in the kitchen as I try to get this sorted out so people can spy on us.
Sorry if you are able to see and hear me on my office spycam throwing a hysterical tantrum. I'm so glad we picked up a pint of gin because I am ready for a drink (or five) for once.
When I say that having my pussy eaten is my LEAST favorite sex act, it surprises people. I love giving head (to men, to women, to the androgynous butthole), but getting it? I usually prefer to fuck or get a hand job.
BUT. There is something about the sound of Explosions in the Sky that makes me want to be licked all over between my legs, so the other night as soon as we popped in "All of A Sudden I Miss Everyone" I REQUESTED head from Tucker. That music IS the sound of really really REALLY good oral applied with loving enthusiasm from a girl's asscrack up to her clit and swirling all around and heading back down. Seriously, it is EXQUISITE. That music sounds exactly like good head feels to a chick, like fireworks and chicks kissing and whimpering because it feels so incredible. The dynamics of those songs, the percussive buildups, the repetition, the reverberations, the subtle (but grand) transitions from one great sensation to another, from one area of stimulation (the perineum, let's say) to another (clit-sucking, for example) -- oh my.
Since Tucker loves to immerse his face in pussy I think he'll be really really happy about the addition of these cd's to our music collection because it inspires an achingly urgent desire in me to have him give me "oral pleasure".
I got an early birthday present from someone with very good taste so we'll be listening to those two Explosions in the Sky CDs and fucking (I've been looking forward to fucking to this music for a long time and the night is finally here)!
Anyway, I'm taking a bath first and then we'll begin luxuriating in bed and, you know, DOING "it" so check it out on the spycams.
I may be the luckiest girl in the world. My boyfriend brings me flowers after *I* have been an asshole. It's bass ackwards and I love it.
Normally I hate honkers.
Last week we drove separate vehicles home from the mechanic's, tension relieved by good news of a quick fix that cost nothing. I followed behind his pickup for a few miles before he pulled off to get gas and I kept going past him to the bank. As he waited to make his turn and I passed him, he honked. Two quick honks. See you soon, honey. Love you. Meet you back at home. I couldn't see his face as I passed him. I don't know if other drivers were distracted or angered by this interruption; it didn't cross my mind until days later when I heard someone else honking in long, frustrated tones, and then I smiled again.
Two short honks between us that everyone else could hear; mundane code for "I love you".
We had "it's the middle of the night and I can't sleep" sex last night. It was dark, but I wonder if any of our voyeurs heard us? I could barely hear us myself, listening instead to a naughty phrase that repeated in my head a few times: daddy and all his friends . . . daddy and all his friends until I came and collapsed on top of him.
I put a couple of chat sessions on the schedule for Valentine's Day and will add more stuff during the week as soon as I find out when we'll be gone visiting family this week, if at all. I'm also changing my show days from Friday and Saturday to Monday and Tuesday so I won't be doing more shows until next week. Doing six one-hour shows in five days is too much for me and my pussy to hack. Delia is sticking with Sunday, though, so she'll be putting on a show today and entertaining private viewers after that.
If you heard me burst into tears suddenly last night after someone on tv proclaimed, "I am a lesbian and I will not hide" (or something like that), well, it was more moving than it sounded. Make fun of me if you like, but I am a sucker for this Secret Lives of Women show. Last night I watched "Late in Life Lesbians" and one woman in one the couples they profiled didn't want to show her face, so they blurred and shadowed it during the entire show. At first it was like, "oh come ON! Show your face! What's the big deal?" until they revealed the reason why; she was a veteran and didn't want to lose her benefits. At the very end of the show they displayed that family of two women and three children in a melodramatic pose, lesbian Marine in the foreground with her face blurred out. And then suddenly they unblurred her face and she made that statement. YOU WOULD HAVE BURST INTO TEARS TOO!! Well done, WE entertainment, WELL DONE.
Tucker and I wasted very little time putting the new lube to good use; after going almost two whole weeks without actual partnered sex, my pussy REALLY needed the extra slipperiness to help ease in his big meaty sausage and even then -- OW. It hurt for a minute there. But then it stopped hurting and we enjoyed one (two?) of those elusive simultaneous orgasms. That's what happens when you're both really horny and you can only last five minutes before you come.
Okay -- I've got another chat session scheduled at 10 am (pacific) and there doesn't appear to be any problem with the chatroom this morning so all should be smooth sailing. FYI: I'm looking pretty rough, it being morning and all, so don't expect anything "sexy" (unless glasses and matted hair arouse you).
After shooting lots of photos and video of Tucker and Delia the past two days, I found myself EXTREMELY, PAINFULLY, TORMENTED by excitement. In spite of all the spunk Tucker already sacrificed for the camera, he welcomed me into his arms last night for some passionate kissing which immediately aggravated my sensitive condition, causing me to rub against him. A small amount of that friction seemed bring me near the brink of orgasm, but I wanted all of it so we took off our pants and fucked on the cottage couch until I had a healthy orgasm. Yay!
I'm actually horny right now, just remembering it and writing about it. It's making me VERY UNCOMFORTABLE and highly agitated.
Unfortunately we have to take a trip in the gas-guzzling truck right now to buy some computer necessaries. When we get home we're going to watch American Idol. If I'm lucky, maybe we'll fuck some more, because right now my swollen genitalia are annoying me!!!!
If any of you voyeurs saw me looking flushed while I slouched in my chair and/or heard the sound of buzzing and wondered what I might have been watching while I masturbated with my magic wand, it was a video of Tucker jacking off that I was editing for his update tonight.
Then again, you probably didn't see or hear it because it only lasted for about four minutes and I didn't take off any clothes or start moaning or anything. Wand over pants watching cockstroking = quick orgasm for Trixie.
When we started watching the Seahawks vs. Bears football game this morning I honestly didn't think we'd be watching long, assuming Chicago would take an early and pronounced lead and we'd just turn off the rest of a boring game. If you watched it, though, you know it didn't turn out that way. It was an entertaining waste of time and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Watching Matt Hasselbeck (Seattle's quarterback aka "the guy who throws the ball", I should tell you, since this isn't a sports blog) doubled over in pain from his broken fingers while he kept on playing made me wonder how people would respond if I as a webwhore/camgirl, for instance, did a masturbation show with broken fingers and kept wincing in pain, and then had an announcer reminding everyone in the viewing audience of all of the injuries I'd suffered while doing explicit sex shows and masturbation.
Trixie's back today and it looks like she's still favoring her right ankle; no one really knew last month that she sprained that ankle when she twisted it wearing five inch fetish heels because she kept her game face on and kept doing her show but wound up having to stay off her feet and on her back for the past three weeks to give that time to mend, really REDUCING her versatility on the playing field. She looks to be in fine form tonight, though, with no traces of that rectal tear giving her any problem, but I wouldn't be surprised if we saw that ripped asshole FLARE UP in the second half.
Wouldn't the anti-porn, anti-whore people be mortified? And wouldn't they be even MORE mortified if a whore suffered those kinds of injuries and actually got paid as much as a pro football player?
Yeah, that's what I thought. You know what I'm talking about.
On Tuesday we shot a hot POV (point of view) blowjob video culminating in many jets of spooge being shot in the air right in front of my face and tongue. To make it a GOOD video, we made sure the BJ lasted a nice long while (fifteen or twenty minutes?). By the time Tucker came, I was so wet and so excited from playing with his cock I wondered why we don't shoot videos like that more often.
There's only one reason we don't shoot more hardcore: because we're lazy. Oh, I sometimes beg out of it using the excuse that I want our sex to be natural and not staged for the camera with a bunch of lights shining on us because that detracts from the fun of having real sex, but that's a lie because I've enjoyed every single sex scene we've shot. Sure, it's a nuisance setting up the lights and your range of motion becomes limited and there are professional considerations to make and a certain amount of self-consciousness to contend with, but overall they usually wind up being a pretty good time.
It's true that making porn and doing camshows can often drain us of recreational sexual energy, but sometimes it actually amps up our sex drives. I almost hate to admit it, but being semi-obligated and professionally-motivated to shoot hardcore porn for our members is a really good thing for our relationship, especially at this point. THIS point, where we've been living together, 99% monogamous, for over four years and fucking each other (almost exclusively) for five.
We have always had great sex since the very beginning -- really steamy stuff. As the years have progressed we've perfected sex to something that requires really minimal effort and has lost some of its old creative ambition. For example, I hardly ever give him head even though I love having his cock in my mouth -- it's just not efficient though since I, well -- since I sort of like having quickies and I orgasm quickly by riding him. Over the years we've started defaulting to the most-efficient position and haven't been talking as dirty to each other. The sex is still great, it's just not as varied or all-consuming as it used to be on a regular basis.
I shudder to think how our sex would decline and grow even more stale if we weren't motivated by porn to liven things up every so often and remind ourselves how gratifying an episode of oral sex with the lights on can be.
We are not so different from all the other couples out there with regular jobs and regular lives. I mean, everything about us is regular except that we have porn sites. Sometimes guys say how much they wish their wives were like me and I remind them that I am not as different from their wives as they imagine me to be -- the only difference is that I get PAID to be sexy. Maybe if their wives were paid to have sex on camera and could justify spending money on the lingerie and shoes I buy then they would be just like I am.
Even with all of the motivation and freedom I have to lead a hypersexual super-stimulating life, "regularity" has set in for us, too. It's not a complaint, it's natural -- when things are perfect and cozy and wonderful you get lazy and complacent and take everything for granted. Sometimes you have to remember that keeping a relationship vital and exciting IS WORK. We are lucky that our relationships (to each other and to ourselves) IS our work, our sole source of income, and it forces us to spice things up in ways that I think we'd probably neglect even more if we had normal jobs.
Food and television encourage us to spend so much time not looking at each other and getting pleasure from stuffing our faces it really does take a concerted effort to get turned on when we are so used to each other. It's not like the old days where we only had one day a week with each other to get all fucked-out with each other's still-unfamiliar bodies. Shooting porn and scheduling sex can actually be a blessed exercise in looking at each other from fresh angles and reminding ourselves that we *are* sexy (to each other and to ourselves) and there is a whole audience of people eager to masturbate to whatever we produce and they aren't tired of us yet. I don't want to make it sound like Tucker "bores" me now that we've been together for a handful of years; that's not what I'm saying (though I do think it's really natural for people to be less-easily aroused by long-term partners the longer long-term they are; let's be realistic AND let's not forget I've put on a few pounds -- I do think it makes a difference, at least to me -- or forget to consider poor Tucker who endures my toxic gaseous emissions on a daily basis). I adore Tucker and love him more and more all the time and I still never stop being amazed at how gorgeous and beautiful he is. I think as your love for someone expands and deepens, the sexual part of that love becomes a relatively smaller, less-obvious factor and hey -- I'd be a liar if I pretended we don't have a couple of "issues" we both need to work on; things do pop up in long-term relationships that need some attention and distract you from 24/7 fuck marathons.
A couple of hours after we shot that video we wound up fucking; I was still wet from the excitement of giving him head. We did it with the lights off but people could still hear us on our spycams. We did it the same way we always do but somehow it was more exciting and charged up just because we stepped out of our routine earlier that day to make some blowjob porn.
I hesitate to post this entry because it feels almost too-private and too-easily misunderstood, but I think it's a good reality check for non-porn people to realize that we are not insatiable nymphomaniacs; we actually struggle with many of the same challenges other couples deal with and people should be wary of the temptation to judge or criticize their own relationships or partners by comparing them to people who are entertainers, especially if the entertainment they offer is pornography. It's not a fair comparison if all you're looking at is the pretty pictures, hour-long shows, and little video clips.
I should also emphasize that I don't think a relationship is going down the toilet just because there's less sex in it than there was in the beginning, or even if you go through dry spells. I'm also not here to judge people who don't really care about sex all that much and have based their relationships (or solitude) on de-emphasizing sex. I just usually like life a lot more when I'm getting laid regularly and am just reminding myself and other people that sometimes you have to make a conscious EFFORT to put on your sex-hat.
Shit -- I should also clarify that working on a relationship means more than working on the SEX part of a relationship. I'm pretty sure that working on the other parts usually indirectly lead to more and better sex, but anyway -- I was supposed to be writing a "sexy" blog entry, not a therapeutic cuddlefest for couples. Leave it to me to make even a simple sex entry into a huge brain dump full of caveats.
I'm in a much better mood than at the time of my last entry; I might just be sick of being stressed out and now, having indulged myself, am ready to toss the stress over my shoulder. I'm also feeling really excited about the prospect of shooting content. We haven't shot much since we got back from our vacation, and the break has been great for renewing my enthusiasm and giving me unhurried time to fantasize about cool ideas rather than worrying about all the time- and money-consuming practicalities that go into shooting.
Last night we watched The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou; halfway through it we decided to augment the experience with some herb. And then we went to bed and fucked like cummy monkeys. And *then* . . . I slept like a baby (except for the endless bizarre dreams, some of which included a Tyson/Ali/Foremanesque character who morphed quite a bit).
Speaking of fucking, I just have to mention that Tucker's and my sexual compatibility is unparalleled by anyone else in my roster of past sex partners. I can murmur incomplete lines hinting at the fantasy playing in my head, and I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about but to any other person it would probably just sound like some bizarre uncrackable code.
As far as the movie went, it really didn't thrill me. In fact, the only reason I even finished watching it is because I was high (and because Cate Blanchett's swollen belly and jugs looked so luscious). But what's this? Wes Anderson is making The Fantastic Mr. Fox? Oh my god!!! I LOVED that book!! I read it about a billion times (even after I had totally "outgrown" it), and think it could be a fantastic movie in Anderson's hands. Speaking of Roald Dahl books made into movies, I'm not as excited as you might expect about Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Maybe because that wasn't one of my favorite Dahl books (Danny, the Champion of the World is probably my favorite).
Okay . . . I'm now going to finish Tucker's weekly update.
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I love wiggling my toes and referring to them as "piggies". I love how animated toes are, how plump and scrumptious they look, like the perfect finger food, like giant fat pale maggots roasted and eaten with relish by jungle tribesmen, their greases dripping down the feasting men's chins. Toes often look like they're stupidly straining towards survival, low-i.q. little beings struggling to escape their human attachments.
I'm not sure if I have more interest in playing with other people's feet or with having my own feet stimulated and worshipped. I don't find my own feet particularly pretty, so I'm more interested in other people's feet aesthetically, both men's and women's. Still, I have always intuitively reached out to people with my feet (which freaked out a couple of guys who were NOT footlovers and didn't appreciate having my feet thrust in their laps and faces). I like the distance my legs provide between me and another person; I enjoy sitting back and watching my playmate while I prod him with my feet and caress him with my toes. It's like two people facing each other to watch a movie projected into a space between each other, feet in hands or on genitals. The distance offers the intimacy of eye contact and a much wider, deeper visual playground.
As a kid I loved sucking my own toes . . . something about the salty flavor, I think. And as a preteen I was obsessed with trying to get my dad to kiss my toes. I know, that sounds kind of weird now, but at the time it didn't seem at all sexual to me (at least, not that I was aware of on a conscious level), although my dad must have thought it sexual because for some reason that mystified me, he vehemently refused to kiss my toes. His refusal only stiffened my resolve to force him to kiss my toes, and I would shove my bare feet in his face. "WHY, Daddy, WHY won't you kiss my toes??? Just do it ONCE and I'll stop bugging you!!" He would never explain why this simple act of affection was totally out of bounds and it drove me fucking MAD with an obnoxious combination of annoyance, confusion, and stubbornness. Daddy was easily manipulated so I was certain he'd fold under my screeching pressure, nearly kicking him in the face while I'd stick my feet in between his face and the T.V. guide or Jane's Tanks and Combat Vehicles Recognition Guide or whatever else he was trying to read.
Because Daddy almost *always* gave me my way, it's possible his refusal to kiss my feet (though he would tickle them for me, if I asked) made me want them kissed much much more than if he'd just done it. Why would he deny this simple request? It didn't make any sense, especially since he was normally so totally under my thumb.
Anyway, for those of you who have been begging for footjob action, the chocolate covered cherries shoot yielded some HOT and extra gooey video footage once Tucker got involved. I'll be posting all of the videos to TastyTrixie.com eventually, but right now Part I of the gallery is there, and the videos with Tucker are on TrixiesHouseboy.com, so if you don't want to wait another second to see that, join his site or SpyOnUs.com to get all of our sites, including Delia's.
SONGS TO COME BY I had three sharp, poignant orgasms during my show today; after each climax it was almost painful trying to withdraw my dildo from my cunt's little death grip. They were intensified by a full bladder, and beautiful auditory stimulation.
The first song I came to was Bruce Springsteen's "Downbound Train". Aside from him being dead sexy, that particular song has great buildup right here::
I rushed through the yard I burst through the front door, my head pounding hard Up the stairs I climbed The room was dark, our bed was empty Then I heard that long whistle whine And I dropped to my knees, hung my head and cried
I know, I said I would never quote song lyrics in my blog, since I fucking hate it when other people do that. But if you know the song, and you know the crescendo of tension and tearful climax, here I think you can see its orgasmic potential, in spite of (or because of, in my case) its melancholy.
My second orgasm broke during Rasputina's cover of "Bad Moon Rising". It's deliciously dramatic, and made me feel like Lucy in the throes of vampiric lust (in Bram Stoker's Dracula, the movie).
My third was like bursting into tears, listening to the romantic sweetness of Dire Straits' "Romeo and Juliet". All in all, they were super-girly orgasms and I adored each one.
HOT! HORNY! HAHAHA*HA*! I feel *so* good. The more sex we have, the more sex I want . . . the more sex I get.
I smell *so* good. A black velour boa made spicy with the smell of Tucker's sweat from hanging on a hook next to his worn clothes. The small of my back enriched by his cum; I slept with it squished between my skin and our flannel sheets. My own hot, demanding cunt smell on my fingers and steaming under my open skirt . . . from in between my black opaque ass-highs that sometimes roll down unevenly on my thighs when I'm walking.
We fucked on the couch yesterday, then I stayed up late blogging and he was already restlessly asleep when I came to bed, trying not to wake him. Even though it was dark and my eyes were closed, I could see my own soft white thighs and ass melting into the spoon of his thighs, groin, and belly when I tucked myself into him. I could see our soft hot whiteness coming together in the dark because we felt so fleshy against each other. I smiled and tried to go to sleep, because I thought he just wanted to sleep. When I felt his flesh inflating against my ass I marvelled at its tirelessness . . . its pattern of waking and sleeping so independent of his. I tried to be still instead of immediately responding to it, but I may have wiggled against it just a bit, just to test it. I swear he strained towards me at the same exact moment I wiggled against him, and through my earplugs I could hear him gasp, sounding almost like he was protesting against a fever or audibly aching for a glass of water.
More wiggling and straining.
Throughout the whole thing I kept seeing our bodies as white hot, but bluish and ghostly in the cold dark room . . . like warm slabs of fat and muscle softly patting against and penetrating each other, swallowing and slapping. Everything felt so silky, soft, white and creamy. Like butter without that fake yellow coloring -- firm, white and vulnerable.
Tonight we went out and had DRINKS! Both of us had drinks!! I hardly ever imbibe, but tonight was perfect . . . rainy and slate blue, early enough in the bar that it was quiet enough to hear rain falling on the window next to us. Or maybe I just imagined that sound, like I imagined the whiteness of my hips in Tucker's jacknife under the blankets last night.
MMMMM . . . GOODNIGHT! I am going to bed, happy happy happy! For one thing, my members' update is posted, including the trashy set of photos I mentioned in my last post:
Full Gallery appearing now in my Members-Only area. JOIN NOW for access to ALL of my pics (full size) & vids!
Also, I enjoyed spending some time in the chatroom this evening, had a chance to do some stretching . . . then lit candles in the bedroom and played some Portishead and Morphine while we had sleepy, smiling, fantastic sex. It was vital to me that we fuck tonight because I have a gynecologist appointment a week from tomorrow and you're supposed to avoid having things bumping against your cervix beforehand as it can fuck up the results of your pap smear. Pap smear -- god, that sounds so pulpy, sticky, and slimy. Wet mount. Whatever . . . anyway, I want my results to be as accurate as possible as I've had "bad paps" in the past.
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NO ONE EVER ASKS In the chatrooms, on private calls, and during shows I'm often asked whether I like black guys, whether I've fucked them . . . if I like black cock. But no one ever asks if I like Indians, whether or not I've fucked a native . . . if I crave indigenous cock.
For that matter the guys don't ask if I'm a sucker for asian men, if I've had experience with jews, or if I've body-surfed with pacific islanders. Nope, the race fetish is almost exclusively limited to blonde chicks and black dicks (or white guys and asian girls but I'm neither so I don't get asked about that). Apparently all other interracial sex is blase, or maybe other minorities just don't exist for most people in a way that warrants enough notice to spawn sexual objectification or fetishism. EDIT: there are definitely plenty of people who fetishize every single race and ethnicity, so I shouldn't make it sound like those people don't exist . . . I probably just hear a lot of the black/white thing because I happen to be a blonde white chick but still, it's weird they never ask me about my level of attraction to anything BUT black guys.
I don't really like being pelted by those questions anyway so I guess I'm glad they don't run down a full list of boxes to be checked for each possible exotic coupling I might have experienced. The fact is that I enjoyed compulsively checking off many of those boxes, not because I have a specific yen for one race over another, but because I liked collecting differently colored experiences. Like sticking flagged pushpins on a map for each place visited, I liked collecting numbers . . . names . . . experiences. Like a guy who wants to buy a dance from each girl in the club or a person who wants to try EVERYTHING on one menu. It wasn't actually something I actively sought out, but during and afterwards I'd secretly cross another skin tone off the list of to-do's. It's hard for me to remember all of the people I've had sex with, so a more unique physical appearance gives those guys more endurance in my memory.
As far as the question goes, I don't think black guys are better hung . . . in fact the only thing I've noticed is that the ones who were possibly bigger tended to be on the long and skinny side, which I find the most unappealing in terms of penis aesthetics. Anyway, I don't have enough experience there to do any kind of ridiculous racial penis profiling.
The only significant special attribute I've attached to anyone because of race or ethnicity is because of a Puyallup Indian boy who I really thought I was communicating deeply with, without words. It felt paranormal . . . extrasensory. Of course, I was also drunk but there was another guy there when we first started fooling around, and I wasn't feeling any psychic connection to HIM so it couldn't have just been the alcohol. I don't think it was some kind of preconcieved notion I had where I EXPECTED him to be more "spiritual" or something since I was not really conscious of his race or even sure what it was until after the fact. I'm not saying he was a fantastic lover either because he wasn't; though he was kind enough to give me my first rim job, he also gave me painful hickies on my inner thighs and that's really the only physical sensation I took away from the experience . . . but the PSYCHIC sensation was something else.
But no one ever asks about that, and I guess I'm glad I don't have to answer.I do sort of have a fetishistic attraction to hispanic guys, though. Remember Epstein on "Welcome Back Kotter"? I had a BIG crush on him. I also used to love Chico and the Man. There've been a few others too, I think.
SEX SEX SEX Tucker and I have enjoyed some fantastic sex over the past couple of days, including a 3 am fuck that resulted in primitive unrestrained grunting and gutteral exclamations preceding and during my orgasm. I myself was actually shocked to hear those mama bear noises barreling forth from my diaphragm, chest, and throat.
Last night was even better with some fucking on the couch where I was lost in fairly submissive fantasies, then in the bedroom where our roles switched very overtly when I pulled new pink stockings over his legs and attached silky pink garters to them. I got completely carried away whispering to him the ways I love him and would protect, spoil, show off, exploit, and "share" him with a host of imaginary friends. I felt totally blissed out, transported, wet and wealthy beyond measure.
ASSFUCKING FYI I stayed up all night, only catching about 1.5 hours of sleep this morning before going to the writers' conference. Took a little nap for an hour this afternoon, then Tucker got home and I missed him so much after not sleeping with him last night that I couldn't go back to sleep, I just wanted to be present and near him.
He plunked in a Grateful Dead cassette and we noodled around to that. Then we had a nice chat in bed then I don't know how the transition began, but somehow Tucker wound up getting me warmed up doggy style while lubing and fingering my ass. I never expect it when he decides to take me anally because it's very rare. There's no rhyme or reason that I can see except that he'd had a few bloody mary's . . . so he greased my ass and spent a good fifteen minutes just slowly gently barely giving it shallow penetration which fucking felt SO good I asked him to get my magic wand. At the end of my first orgasm he plunged in TO THE HILT which hurt like a son of a bitch. Not to worry, I recovered and here we are hours and orgasms later after doing ummm. . . 50 positions or more, ass to mouth (there is something about his cock after it's been in my ass that make sit look a tighter, lighter pink and I just HAVE to suck it and lick it, it's so beautiful), and god only remembers what else. Sleep deprived and oversexed, I am a happy happy happy woman.
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Wow. I spent hours today going over the pictures I took of Bunny the day we "got it on". The pictures were taken before I had any idea we would wind up rolling around TOGETHER on her bed. Anyway -- I could stare at them all day and the way they she looks so utterly feminine. Wearing this soft pale blue slip on her white white skin and with that beautiful cupid's bow mouth of hers . . . mmmm . . . it's hard for me to describe how timelessly she embodies "woman". I swear, anybody looking at her in these pictures, regardless of their age or background, has got to recognize immediately that she is a classic sex symbol -- not in the jane russell kind of way, but in the neighbor-lady-who-let-me-come-in-when-she-was-barely-dressed-when-all-I-wanted-to-do-is-see-if-she-wanted-a-newspaper-subscription kind of way.
Knowing I have so much to share about the Vegas trip, I've been withholding more current events. Like the great phone sex I had the night we came back; houseboy stuffed my mouth with his cock while my phone sex guy told me how much "Daddy" wants me to suck it. I came using my hitachi magic wand (vibrator) with houseboy jiggling the knob of his cock in my wet mouth. I haven't been doing enough private shows and phone sex . . . that little episode was a reminder of how fun and fulfilling it can be. Having houseboy around when I'm doing phone sex makes me feel extra shy and self-conscious -- but somehow the couple times it's happened I've wound up demanding he get in on the action. It's like having a very safe threesome and/or mixing up your fantasy with reality in the most sublime/surreal manner. The best part about it is that I'm the one getting paid to have the MOST stimulation (the auditory stimulation coming from my client AND the real life stimulation coming from houseboy and whatever other toys I rustle up).
Night before last houseboy took about 130 pictures of me (along with some self-timed shots of us together). I'm starting to feel a lot more comfortable "posing" for him. The best part about it is that he seems to enjoy it -- he totally motivates me to do the shoot and helps hook up the voyeurcams, move computer, lights, etc. around -- all those tedious things that are so time consuming.
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In sad news, since I moved from Tacoma I have been reading The Irish Think Tank's email every so often (it's amazing that a pathological liar feels safe telling everyone his hotmail password when he should realize that will give us the opportunity to more clearly see his inconsistent stories and lies). Now that he is no longer a threat to me it distressed me to find out he is homeless. He finally got kicked out of his apartment and everybody seems to be discovering that he's a soul-sucking opportunistic bad person. One person told him, "Its scavengers like you who leach off of caring hard working people AND think its OK ..that gave me the inspiration for my Scavenger series of seagull compositions".
On one hand I don't feel sorry that he's getting what he deserves. On the other hand I hate thinking about someone who is not completely evil and *does* have good qualities (fun, good sense of humour, when he *does* have money he's extremely generous with it) living on the streets in fucking cold rainy-ass January. I hope that this makes him a better person or that he just dies. Otherwise his destitution could make him even more of a liar and psycho.
I am looking at a community notification flier. With a picture of a guy with scary unrepentant predatory straight-staring eyes and a really freaky closely-shaved haircut. I have another picture of him . . . and me standing next to him ten years earlier. Innocently average and handsome for a homecoming dance. Wow. The same guy. It's the same guy. The same guy I determined to have pop my cherry when I was 18 years old. My dad always told me I had a taste for shit.
I know it probably sounds bizarre but . . . I don't regret losing my virginity to him. Even though he tried to tell me afterwards that my mom paid him to have sex with me (which I almost believed even though I knew if my mom would have paid someone to sexually initiate me it wouldn't have been *him* -- she tried to talk me into losing it to someone more "experienced" but I insisted that he was the fellow virgin with whom I intended to share this rite of passage). Even though it's nothing to brag about and the thought of having intimate memories revolving around this disturbing person should make me shudder and wish to forget . . . I don't wish I never knew him or did it with him. I can't explain it. My mom thinks I have a potentially dangerous fascination with people who are bizarre and live on the fringes bordering normalcy. I guess she's right.
I just want to try to understand. The dangerous part is that inside me there's an unshakable belief (delusion?) that we are all the same. It's an ideal I cling to for the sheer horror and soaring hope that it gives me. Or maybe that's the justification I use to pursue my macabre fascination and unusually high comfort level with freaky people.
This sounds off the subject, but I am feeling the need to read more Carson McCullers. I love her and her characters so much. Reflections in a Golden Eye is what I need to read right now.
I remember catching him in the alley when I was 16. And knowing but not really caring that he wasn't just walking to a friend's the way he said. Knowing there was a different reason for him being in the dark alley where the inside of my sister's and my bedroom was visible through the wooden blinds.
I remember being 18 and finally having an unspoken fantasy come true. He knocked on our bedroom window. And I came out and we fucked standing on the cinder-block steps outside our back door while my mom slept inside and my sister wound up waking up and asking what was going on.
I remember being 19 (after he and I stopped talking and no longer fucked) and sleeping by myself in the detached garage we had converted into a bedroom. I remember all of the times I'd lie in the dark there listening to what I *knew* were human noises right outside my door. Whoever it was would get in there stealthily enough to not set off the motion detector. I wonder how many times I took a trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night and might have sleepily walked right past what must have been him. I remember I lay there alone once in the middle of the night, disconnected from the house and my mom and my sister. And this time he tried to open my door. It was locked. He knocked. He tried repeatedly to turn the doorknob. He wouldn't answer me when I asked who was there. He didn't say anything. I didn't know who it was. I always wondered if it was him but never thought it was. It didn't line up right. I never thought he would be that weird with me. So silent and anonymous with me who was not a stranger. The rest of that night I laid there in bed scared to death and having to piss like a racehorse until the sun came up.
But today looking at this flier I realize it must have been him. It must have been him. Two years before he was convicted for sneaking into people's houses and touching girls he didn't know in their sleep. Criminal Trespass. Sexually Motivated Felony. Did he grab something to steal on the way in?? Or while he was running out??
I probably would have opened the door in the middle of that night if I'd have known it was him. If he would have said something. But I don't think that's the way it was supposed to work. I wonder if I knew him before he knew what he wanted. I wonder if he got caught and convicted before he knew what he really was going to do. Or if that was all there was to it for him. Supposedly that's pretty unlikely statistically speaking. People like this (like what?) usually mature as criminal freaks, with their crimes escalating in severity and violence and seriousness and perversion as time goes on.
What would have happened if my door had been unlocked? What would have happened if I would have opened it? There is such a range of possibilities. Sad. Scary. Or fumbling to retain normalcy.
Oh well. Who cares?? I'm going to Memphis.
But first I'm going to drive to the end of the road. In the twilight. And drive slowly looking in windows lit from the inside. Knowing that he's probably in one of them. A beastly self-centered miserable mystery.
And later tonight I will drive home to my safe city so I don't have to sleep here less than a mile away from where he probably is. So I don't have to lie here and remember what it was like to imagine that someone was outside watching me. To imagine someone was close to my door. To tell myself I had an overactive imagination but then wind up experiencing the bizarre intersection of reality and paranoid suspicion.
I can't recall if I ever mentioned this before, but the guy I lost my virginity to when I was 18 is now a registered sex offender. My sister found this out a few years ago quite by chance by punching in the zip code of our small hometown into an online database of level 2 and 3 sex offenders. And there he was. Anyway, I never did find out exactly what he did (online it just says he's a level 2 sex offender and his crime was a "sexually motivated felony").
Well, last night my mom called to tell me that she saw a community notice posted at the fire station (don't ask me why my mom was hanging out at the fire station) warning residents of his move within our town. Why the fuck doesn't he get out of our town?? God! You'd think he'd move somewhere where nobody knows him. WHY has he chosen to reside in this small town for the past six years since his criminal activities? Now he is living up the road from my mom and dad and grandma and grandpa. Which is odd because the last time I drove up that road all the way to the end I had the distinct feeling he was there. Eerie.
Anyway, my mom didn't take the time to read the whole notice (I plan on reading it quite thoroughly when I go visit day after tomorrow) but apparently he was breaking into people's houses and climbing into bed with them. Apparently not raping them but hopping into bed and fondling them. A mother with her four year old son. An 11 year old kid. Who the fuck knows what else. . . .
Are my wierdo-detecting sensors messed up? I used to think he was just being melodramatic when he told me that he was a bad person and did really bad things. As far as I know he started doing this shit long after we were doing our thing together. Who knows, maybe I turned him into a freaky pervert?
There's a part of me that is shock-resistant. That doesn't believe that some people are "worse" than others and that we're *all* capable of doing amazingly crazy, bizarre and violent shit. With him it always seemed as though he were trying to *prove* he was a freak, not that he really was. He believed he was *so* different. I believed he was just obsessed with himself and his perceived differences to the point where he lost all perspective. I remember him telling me about his stepdad coming in and sitting on the bed while he was sleeping. Or *pretending* to sleep. And his stepdad stroking his thigh while he "slept". That's it. That's all. Gross, but apparently that is all the sexual violation he suffered. I then shared with him things that had happened to *me* that were more violating. Not to discount his experience with nastiness, but to just let him know I knew what it felt like.
I remember a year later the subject came up and he had absolutely no recollection that I'd told him I experienced anything like that. His mind was so completely absorbed with his *own* experiences he just had no room for thinking about anybody else. The fact that he seemed to be missing the ability to empathize with others -- that's the one time I recognized that he might indeed be different and bad. Well, I guess that and the time that he told me that he always felt like a million spiders were crawling all over him after we finished having sex.