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.
You have NO IDEA how excited I got watching that, and will continue to get as I press play over and over and over. Her thighs and butt and the rest of her just make me want to cry and scream -- so gorgeous! I have watched the other girls on that site and while some of them are lovely & I drool over them, too, Jess really deserves the prize on this one.
Yesterday I catalogued our inventory of sex toys in a spreadsheet to try to keep track of which ones we have (and haven't) shot with.
This is the Tantus Sport which I got from their closeout section in a clearance color; I've gotten a lot of spectacular (and low-priced silicone toys) from them. In fact, my favorites are ones they don't make anymore.
We have over fifty sex toys, which is pretty awesome. Really a dream come true, I have to say. There have been others over the years we've thrown away because they were cheap/dangerous jelly or broke/got used-to-death.
Crazily, we have barely shot photos or videos with more than a handful of them. We use a lot of them during our live webcam shows so it seems like we get/have gotten a lot of use from them, but there aren't actually a ton of pics or masturbation-with-toys videos on our sites. Pretty dumb, eh? Hence the spreadsheet.
The Tantus Goddess vibrating dildo (a gift from FurryGirl's Sensual Vegan):
Lately I've been CRAVING new toys in categories we don't have. Example: we don't have any big "realistic" toys in our collection which seems like a SERIOUS oversight, especially considering how few of my close webwhore colleagues seem into those types of things and how TOTALLY into them I am (so it seems like a good niche for me to "fill", hardy har har). Sure, I like the way our "non-representational" dildos FEEL, but I fucking love seeing chicks spreading themselves out with big fat fake pricks and I love the way realistic "dongs" look especially when there are good contrasting colors between the head and the shaft (hello, Black Thunder). I totally want more DONGS.
I can't allow myself to purchase any more sex toys, though, until we've shot more with the ones we already have. Even though I totally want a pussy pump, more stainless steel, DEFINITELY more artistic stuff like carved wooden dildos, art glass, & unique molded silicone insertables. AND BIG DIRTY DICK-SHAPED DILDOS, like I already mentioned. Just can't let myself get them. I'm not sure why we never got on the bus that has sex toy manufacturers constantly sending us unsolicited samples, but that's just never happened to us, I'm sad to say.
I did get a couple of toys to review from the nice folks at Pleasure Me Now, but I stalled out after the glass dildo when I couldn't bring myself to properly review the smart balls I was super excited about trying but was then unsuccessful at enjoying. Not that they asked me to only write positive reviews -- they didn't -- but I felt like I hadn't given those GIGANTIC FUCKING BALLS a fair shake and kept procrastinating on setting aside time to really give them a good trial. Sometimes my anal retentiveness is an obstacle to getting freebies.
One of the problems with our sex toy collection (and pretty much everything we buy to wear or use in photo shoots) is the constant struggle to decide between buying A LOT of cheap and semi-generic things on our limited budget or buying A FEW unique and really marvelous things . . . and not being able to buy anything else for months. Usually I wind up buying more for less rather than investing a bunch of money in a very-few expensive and spectacular items. We buy most of our clothes second-hand or on sale and same goes for the toys, so I rarely spend more than $40 on a single toy. Which is why I have zero "realistic" dildos, since all the good ones are in the $60-$90 range (and are made of questionable, possibly-hazardous and hard-to-clean materials making the investment even LESS sound since Delia and I might not be able to share them or get very many miles out of them or they'll stain if we get lipstick on them, etc.). It doesn't really make sense, since even with these frugal choices designed to give us (and our members) more variety I'm not even using all of the stuff AND I *still* use certain things OVER and OVER again (like my Hitachi Magic Wand).
It's the whole dilemma of "do I buy five crappy Frederick's of Hollywood corsets or one REAL corset?" And then the ultimate challenge of making use of everything, which is where I actually fall down on the job(s). But who wouldn't after exhausting all those brain cells on making these tough shopping decisions? Most members don't give a fuck anyway as long as you're regularly posting something new and hot -- the mileage you can get on one slimline vibe, a little hard work and a cheap pair of pantyhose is pretty remarkable, but in terms of standing out in a crowd with your promo materials and really presenting something SPECIAL that continues to be personally exciting sometimes you want things that are fancy, different, stylish, etc. Well, almost all the time I want those things. And never quite succeed in getting them. Which leaves me with something average which is tiresome.
Even more tiresome? All of this is leading into yet another blog entry about shopping for sexy stuff which I'll try to post soon but I had no idea I was going to spend an hour writing THIS one.
I couldn't resist looking at the beautiful man-body chopping wood next door so I did something I think (I thought?) is really, REALLY wrong: I took sneaky pictures of him without his knowledge or consent. And now I'm doing something even MORE wrong: I'm posting one of them here:
He's not our neighbor, he just delivers and chops wood for our neighbor. And I HAVE to watch him do it, because the guy is incredibly beautiful. Not his face, just his whole old-fashioned working-man's body with that wedge-hourglass shape. The thick pants with the shiny metal details, the gloves, the white tank top, the cap, the scraggly mullet and those pale muscles built up in the shade and from working outside when it's raining, because it rains all the time where he works. He's like an 80's version of the guys in old propaganda posters like these:
I have always been in love with watching men do physical labor. Even though I felt sort of dreadful about it, I was compelled to run and get the camera. I stood in the kitchen and snapped a few pictures where he could have turned around and seen me. But before that happened, I ran into the bedroom and took pictures of him through the crack between two panels in our shoji screen so he couldn't catch me watching him through the magnifying lens of our camera. My desire to capture his image forever outweighed the voice in my head reminding me I was doing something wrong. Something I've seen/heard of other people (men) doing that sickened me, but that memory didn't stop me from doing it myself.
You shouldn't spend time on fetish-oriented forums online if non-consensual voyeuristic photography (and other stuff) bothers you. You'll find out things that you just don't want to know and see things you weren't meant to see. Like pictures of used maxi pads guys steal out of public restrooms or photos a foot fetishist surreptitiously took of his neighbor's niece's bare feet while their family unwittingly enjoyed a barbecue in their driveway. The woman was probably in her twenties and the guy who took and shared the pictures described his sneaky method for capturing them and the type of camera and settings he used and how he managed to not get caught.
The freaky part is the way these people usually don't even acknowledge the line they're crossing, or worse, act like they're ENTITLED to snagging these things that belong to other people. Of course, half the time someone with common sense will challenge these people or point out the err of their ways, but most people don't bother to post any opposition, instead just showing their appreciation for what the voyeur-thief has "created"/salvaged for the members of the board. Or they will critique the spoils, like the guy who complained that the neighbor chick with the bare feet was so fat, how in the world could the spy-photographer possibly think anyone would be interested in seeing her or be aroused by her himself? So not only is this woman with the arched foot and a BBQ rib in her mouth being displayed on the internet without her knowledge or consent, she's ALSO having her weight criticized. AWESOME, right?
I pretend that I'm not quite as bad as these sociopaths because I know what I'm doing is wrong. But I guess that actually makes me worse because I know it's wrong and I'm doing it anyway (and those guys on the forums might know it's wrong too, they just don't waste time making a big show of acting guilty about it the way I am in all of my gross hypocrisy).
I can pretend I'm conducting an experiment or research. That I'm a writer. That the end result of provoking thought about these important issues of privacy, consent, and all SORTS of interesting things is worth the negligible or nonexistent "damage" I'm doing. And after all, it's a really REALLY grey area, right? I mean, how many people would even think me taking and posting the picture of the axe man is wrong if I didn't tell you that *I* think it's (maybe) wrong? And this isn't really a blog entry about that guy, it's about me or the collective us and the image is actually a snapshot of me -- the voyeur -- and my thoughts, not him. It's entirely possible to intellectualize it that way. He could be anybody. You can't see his face. No one will ever know who he is. Probably not, anyway.
And would he care if people DID know? Maybe he'd WANT to be credited and known far and wide as The Woodsman Who Got Trixie Hot. Of course, that brings me back to the obvious trespass of not asking for his permission to photograph him in the first place, but speaking of consequences, *I* certainly don't want to pay them. I don't want *him* to know he was chopping wood next to TASTYTRIXIE and therefore knows about our websites and where I live and can tell everyone how to find me (I'd have to tell him about our sites in order for him to give INFORMED consent, though that disclosure would be out of ethical, not legal obligation; you don't have to specify where or when something will published on a consent form, just that you as the photographer have all rights to the photos which legally you don't REALLY need to do anyway since in our country the photographer automatically owns the photos, not the model). I don't want to tell a big strong stranger with an axe and a cock that he gives me a boner and I want to take pictures of him -- LOTS of pictures. Well, I do sort of want to tell him that, but I know it's not such a good idea/could cause problems. He might be weird or scary or even if he isn't, then our neighbor (a decent neighbor, not our scary neighbor) would know about us and that would make everyone on the block uncomfortable. Most of all us.
If it were my actual neighbor out there making me hot chopping wood, I wouldn't have taken the pictures. Because that would be violating the good neighbor code of pretending each other doesn't exist. And I certainly wouldn't take pictures of his young daughter! Even if it were to record how she trespasses on OUR property, walking just three feet past me sitting in our window. Well, maybe I would (for proof of trespass only!), but I wouldn't post them on the internet. But maybe only because I'm a pornographer and could get in trouble for it just by virtue of that fact.
When I pondered these things aloud to Delia, she doubted my assertion that if it were a woman out there, hanging laundry or washing a car, I totally wouldn't have taken the pictures. She's probably right. After all, I took this picture (without her knowledge/consent) of a hot redhead fishing because she had a really great ass:
It's the kind of picture you can get away with taking in public and even sell prints of in local galleries that don't have any artistic standards. It's the kind of picture no one (except other wankers) would bat an eye at as long as you keep up the appearance of it being completely innocent. Even though I know that I took it purely out of sexual/sensual interest. And I know that any straight man with a camera would have taken it for exactly the same reason (or to prove to himself that he wasn't) whether he would admit it or not, and there are tens of thousands of men with cameras with hobbies or professions doing exactly that. I know a lot of people who take completely g-rated innocent-looking pictures and jack off to them later even if they didn't intend to when they snapped them.
Part of me feels justified in posting this because there are so many writers and artists and reporters and network television stations getting away with doing so much worse with absolutely no compunction. It's only people like me who openly call ourselves pornographers who are recognized for exploiting and objectifying others even though we play be much stricter rules and are faced with much harsher penalties for violating them than any other industry would be. But that train of thought is just another diversion from asking myself how *I* would feel if my neighbor were peeping through a crack in the blinds taking pictures of ME doing yardwork or thinking he's not home when I sunbathe naked on our deck when actually he's hidden behind a tree and rubbing his crotch against its bark. Of course, I'd feel totally different about it if I had a teenage son or daughter being spied on. But the guy chopping wood is clearly an adult. And he wasn't sunbathing naked. And again, I don't think I'd care if my neighbor secretly stood in his kitchen taking pictures of me as I walk around OUR kitchen at night topless (which I do sometimes with the blinds open, not because I'm an exhibitionist but because I just don't care) as long as he didn't hang them in the post office with our address printed on them or something.
Meh. Now that I think about it, I really don't care. As long as someone stays on their own property (not sneaking onto mine or a stranger actually stalking into the neighborhood to spy on us or putting on an obscene display of masturbating and shooting cum into our yard) and is only taking pictures of what I do outside or with the windows open then who cares. It's kind of fucked up, but not a huge deal. It's not like I'm lying in wait every day, conducting surveillance on everything that our neighbors and their visitors do.
After completely overthinking this, I absolve myself from guilt. It's harmless and legal. But I guess if I give myself permission to be an opportunistic voyeur-perv-photographer that means I have to stop being shocked and offended by other people who do the same thing. I'm reluctant to do that.
Here's a couple with a sleeping bag and no picnic basket that I shot entirely because I knew they were setting out to lie down together and *do things*:
If I hadn't admitted that and had posted the picture somewhere else, like on a stock photo site using woman-approved keywords like "young love" and "spring romance" (and cropped out our cracked windshield & wipers giving away that I'm like a dirty old man doing a drive-by) it would probably be perceived in a totally different way. It would just be a bad snapshot. But because of who I am and what my site is and my confession that I'm a voyeuristic pervert who sees sexual potential everywhere, it seems more DIRTY and exploitative than it really is. What if a local television station were doing one of those weather "stories" about how people were still going to the beach even though it's overcast, and those two lovebirds were in the background? Would the station be committing an evil deed? If not, why does it seem so evil when I do it and admit that I see erotic potential? And why would it seem so much grosser and more evil if I were a man instead of a woman?
If you don't watch it, go ahead and barf on my blog and move along. Otherwise, here are a few brief thoughts/feelings on the season so far.
My mom is so right that girls do NOT get a fair shake in these coed television competitions. The voting audience and judges definitely judge girls and boys by totally different standards. The standards the chicks have to live up to are WAY higher. So yeah, it's been pretty shitty but hardly a surprise to us watching Allison be in the bottom three so often and kicked off last week. I loved watching and listening to her sing -- she's the one that if *I* were a music mogul I'd want to make a record.
From the beginning we were rooting for Matt, Allison, and Alexis. Matt's whole piano bar experience and beautiful Elvis cheeks won me over, but when he did that Coldplay song, OMG -- I wrote him off as not having a clue what he's good at and how good at it he is. Still, I felt emotionally attached to him throughout the season and rooted for him to do well. I loved Alexis until she fucked up Jolene (one of my absolute favorite songs). Allison I loved pretty much every week even though I agreed that Cry Baby was a bad choice (and I especially hated her changes and that she smiled as she sang it -- that is my biggest Idol pet peeve aside from the lame hand gestures of pointing and come-hereing and counting on their fingers whenever a number is a song lyric, when these kids SMILE inappropriately during sad/pathetic songs like that boy who grinned as he sang Careless Whisper a while back). It was much better the next night when she was actually crying as she sang it. So sad . . . I really wanted her to win.
I enjoyed all of the contestants this year after a few shows EXCEPT Danny Gokey. I can't understand why he's a favorite with his complete lack of humility. He seems totally insincere and sociopathic to me, but maybe he really is just mourning his wife's death and what I'm reading is just him being shell-shocked. Whatever -- I think he's a total ass. I do think, however, that he was better than Lil who was totally overrated (except when she sang that Fourth of July song everyone ripped her apart for doing - I thought that was the best). Her bowing and scraping drove me apeshit and I do not understand why she didn't get called out more often for being "pitchy".
I even enjoyed the blind guy. A LOT, after awhile. He cracked good jokes and made good choices and I hope he makes a wonderful Christian music album. If forced to buy either a Scott MacIntyre album or a Danny Gokey album, I WOULD RELISH BUYING SCOTT'S INSTEAD.
Kris Allen pleasantly surprised me -- I get pissed when I hear stupid criticisms of him. He's by far the most mature contestant with the most diverse array of talents and widest/deepest music appreciation. I feel like he really understands music and loves every aspect of making it even if he's not the strongest singer. Not that he should win, but I imagine him having the skill to be a long-lasting success in other ways. It seems like he gets the meaning of every word in every song, unlike most American Idol contestants.
Adam? God, I just want to see him on his knees with a big thick cock in his ripe mouth and jizz splashed all over his gorgeous bloated face. And he and his partner both have to be wearing cartoon hair and untied high tops with tight pants. And their thick cocks jutting out like big meat-pink cylinders of gayness. At first I was so not a fan of his Rush-like vocal stylings, but I was won over when he did his Jeff Buckley impression. I'll be happy when he wins.
There you have it. My obnoxious Idol entry for this year. You can laugh if you want to. I do.
Feel free to ask me any urgent Idol questions you have like, "who is your favorite judge?" or "would you rather have sex with Anoop or Sanjaya?"
The other day I treated myself to a trip to the spa as a reward for being 33% of the way to my June 1st weight loss goal. I decided to get a body wrap for health reasons (it helps you detox) and out of curiosity since I'd never done it.
I knew going into it that I *might* really hate being wrapped up like a mummy and mostly-immobilized for forty minutes, but I also knew I *might* really enjoy it and, at the very least, could endure it without feeling as though I'd been placed in a straitjacket.
By the time my appointment rolled around at 4 pm I'd been soaking, sweating, reading, and steaming at the spa since 10 am (I should've made my body wrap & massage appointment beforehand but was afraid to in case I couldn't figure out how to pay for it or wanted to do something else instead so 4 pm was the earliest they could get me in) and was GIDDY with anticipation.
The girl explained what was in the mud (mugwort, seaweed and a bunch of other stuff I can't recall), instructed me to disrobe and sit on the massage table (on top of a sheet of plastic on top of a metallic emergency blanket on top of MORE blankets) with my back to her. She warned me to expect the mud to be fairly "warm" because it cools off so quickly, then she started slathering hot goop on my shoulders, back, and arms. She had me lie down after that so she could apply it to the rest of my body. Right before she smeared it on my boobs, she prepared me to anticipate the touch in a nursey-kindergarten voice: I'll just apply some to your breasts now . . . (circle, circle).
After she got it all over me except RIGHT between my legs, the soles of my feet and my face, she closed the plastic around me, then the reflective blanket, then the other blankets and towels until I was thoroughly cocooned with only my head sticking out. She asked if I wanted a pillow or for her to bring water or tea when she came back to check on me in ten minutes. Then she turned out the lights (as I requested) and left me alone in the dark, unable to move. AND TRAPPED WITH A TERRIBLE CD OF ROMANTIC/NEW-AGEY GUITAR MUSIC CRAP.
The first ten minutes were pleasant (except for the hideous music). I didn't even attempt to move, afraid I would make myself itchy and be unable to scratch myself. I could see how easily I could become panicked if the slightest carnival-ride twist had been added to it (it WAS April Fool's Day, after all). Like if she'd laughed maniacally before she left and I could hear the door being locked from the outside. Or if weird scrubby things began to descend from the ceiling towards me. Or if the walls just started shrinking inwards. I kept my eyes closed JUST IN CASE so I wouldn't have to see anything like that happening. Or if a man with a bunch of surgical tools were to simply walk in, bend over my face and start whispering at me you can't move you can't move you can't get away from me or my tools! and just put his hands heavily on my chest.
So yeah . . . this might help explain to you PART of why I'm not interested in being bound. Because it would be way too fucking easy for someone to scare me psycho. I can happily lie motionless for hours, but FORCE me to -- restrict my mobility -- and I might freak the fuck out. Part of me can appreciate the appeal, imagine experimenting with it under very specific conditions, and be tempted by the psychological challenge of it and another part of me just thinks the (psychological) risk is not at all worth the scariness. I feel the same way about LSD. It sounds really interesting but I think I might be a little too vulnerable to bad side effects. The body wrap at the women-only spa is about as far as I can go.
One time I did let someone bind my hands behind my back with his leather belt (a natural outgrowth to him of my spanking and man's-leather-belt fetish, but to me it was just not the direction I was interested in going once I was face down on his bed -- it was crazily exciting, but the fear of having my arms locked behind me that way and of him possibly being able to put his weight on me and smother me was just too fucking freaky for me and I begged for mercy so it didn't last long. I was far more interested in being whipped with the belt (but not to the point of bruising or bleeding), but he wasn't so much into that so that little experiment didn't last very long. I know that some of you are thinking I just didn't do it with the RIGHT person, someone I TRUST. But the point is a) my imagination doesn't trust ANYBODY, and b) testing my boundaries on this is NOT as important to me as preserving them. For a whole lot of reasons. Thinking about it is provocative, but I am (and always have been) more interested in having force applied to me in a psychological way (and even more so applying it to others) in ridiculous role plays. I like being bound by RULES and structure. I like things that happen inside my HEAD way more than things that happen to my body. Or maybe I'm just lazy. I don't know. Woops. Now that I've written this I can recall a few different instances where I've been bound in different ways and liked it. Hmmmm . . . still, not exactly my "thing".
Back to the spa.
The first time the girl came in to check on me she brought me tea with a straw that she lowered to my mouth. I wasn't prepared for it and giggled because THAT is totally hot to me, being treated like an invalid. I wasn't prepared and dribbled tea down the side of my face, then I got her to change the CD to a variety of new agey music I enjoy -- Shamanic Dreams or something like that. She asked if the level of heat was okay (yes - warm and cozy) and again if I wanted a pillow (this time? yes).
When she left I decided to try to sleep since I'd only gotten three hours the night before. And sleep I did, for a few minutes. Let me tell you, it was NOT pleasant waking up mummified, sweating like a pig in a strange dark room with weird pagan drum music going on. I decided not to go to sleep again and couldn't wait for her to come back. When she did I asked for the heat to be turned down. She did, and blotted the sweat from my forehead and cheeks with a cool cloth (yummmmm . . . more pampered-invalid feelings). I wanted to ask her if anybody had ever lost control of their bowels while getting a wrap but decided against it, fearing she'd think I was planning something disgusting. Still, the thought was entertaining. I know SOMEONE, somewhere has done that on accident or on purpose, and I'd really love to hear about it.
Note: I'm far more likely to experiment with and enjoy shitting in a warm, plastic-wrapped bed than with being tied up. Just an FYI. I don't PLAN on doing either, but a warm bed of crap seriously sounds more fun to me than letting someone tie me up. Maybe I'm just a loner with a short attention span, though, and wallowing in my own poop is an experience I could live fully in five to ten minutes by myself whereas the whole bondage scene requires time and at least one other person. I guess there are some things I could do to myself, but again, I'm too lazy and disinterested for that. Plus, scat is just a whole lot edgier than bondage and I like the idea of being able to make people think by gleefully confessing I've shat myself for the pure, HAMRLESS fun of it. It's stupid, but poop is so much more taboo (and illegal/obscene) than bondage these days. Again, I HAVE NO PLANS TO DO THAT. I'm just comparing/contrasting. For fun.
Anyway, I survived the last twenty minutes without losing my mind, going back and forth between feeling blissed-out and on-the-verge of screaming, "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!" I kept reminding myself of what good "exercise" it was for me and how much healthier I'd be afterwards. I worried that I'd be so sick of lying there that I wouldn't enjoy my massage afterwards (but it actually worked the other way, made the massage seem longer and way better). Basically I endured the procedure a little bit more than I enjoyed it. If I get a body wrap again I will definitely bring my own cd with guided meditations or something so my mind won't wander to torture scenes.
Finally she came in to unwrap me and I went down the hall naked to the shower with the glass-door making my clean-up efforts visible to anyone who walked by. I decided to pee in the shower instead of wasting my massage time putting on a robe and traipsing down to the restroom, but I worried about it, wondering how many other people do/don't pee in the post-wrap shower, worrying that there'd be some way they'd know I did and would talk about that disgusting customer with the long toenails who peed in the shower. Silly fears, but still. I have them. Which goes to show you just how very VERY far away I am from ever pooping in a plastic-wrap cocoon.
After the anxiety of the day BEFORE the spa and the super-extended stay I had there, I was in recovery mode all day yesterday, totally drained and exhausted and verging on a big fat headache. If you've never gotten body work, steamed, soaked, detoxed, etc. then you probably thing I sound like a fucking crybaby asshole, complaining about how TIRED I am after spending a day doing something that sounds like pure luxury to most Americans but that shit is MEDICINE. My throat and eyes burn after all the gunk inside me is dislodged and stirred up and swirled around and sucked out. It feels like preparation to go into hibernation, like the final step in this cleansing/healing process is to go into an induced coma for two days.
The spa experience is totally my cup of tea, though. The front desk lady seemed to think I was crazy for wanting to stay there for more than eight hours, but since I go so rarely it hardly seems excessive. It takes me awhile to really turn my brain off and melt into it, so that cuts down on the time I'm really benefiting from it, but it's exactly my idea of the perfect mini-vacation. Alone, not talking to anybody, with scads of naked ladies walking around, walking from one hot room to another, from one pool to another, being ministered to by talented, paid hands, smelling good things, and trying to become invisible to myself.
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.
Last week I was in a hurry to have an orgasm, so I went to *quickly* find a free amateur video of some stranger (ANY stranger) jerking himself off. This video, "A Tribute to Jodie", looked like a winner so I grabbed my eroscillator, shoved it under the waistband of my sweats, and pressed play.
The "tribute" part of the title gave me a good hint what I'd be watching: a guy at home with his webcam recording himself jacking off onto one of his favorite photos of a camgirl or pornstar. I've seen these things before and have always been fascinated by them.
LET ME REITERATE: I was not in the mood to be choosy about selecting the video; I wanted to get off as soon as possible with anything remotely visually stimulating and obscene. As long as it was a closeup of a guy jerking his cock, I didn't care. For a quick cum, homemade jerkoff videos are surefire winners for me because they're usually the right length: they get right down to business with no distractions. Even better, there's an extreme element of voyeurism for me especially when the guy is using a toy (like tiny fake pussies) or in some way sharing a method that is in some way humiliating/exposes more about him than just his cock. I love seeing a guy's private masturbation ritual. The tribute thing? If I were a guy I would try to keep that secret and would be *totally* embarrassed to admit, let alone SHOW MYSELF OFF, doing it. Because it seems so humiliating to me, I *love* watching it. The notion that some guy is so fucking crazed by his desire to get off that he will DO something so ridiculously contrived and teenage-insane makes me incredibly hot.
Having said that, the LAST thing I want is for someone to record such a tribute to me if they're planning to inform me of it/beg me to watch it. Noooooooooo, please! NO! Don't ever do that! If you do, don't do it expecting me to masturbate to it or tell you that it made me hot. The best you can hope for is that I'll laugh and thank you for doing me the "honor". Being put into a situation where I will feel *obligated* to watch it and issue a polite response (or even worse, a big description of how it made me masturbate) would totally ruin the whole thing for me. The whole point of masturbating is to DO IT ALONE, whenever you want to, without having to interact with someone. I do not want other people picking out my masturbation fodder for me because I will get all tense thinking the person expects me to drop everything and go wank. When I masturbate? I do not want to feel obligated to anyone or under pressure to perform or to flatter someone else (especially when they've done something as grotesque as defile my image by splattering it with their cum). I don't want someone watching me while I take my two fully-clothed minutes slouched in my site with my hands down my sweatpants. The last thing I want is someone emailing me over and over again, "have you watched my tribute to you yet? I can't wait for you to see it!", or, "oh darn! I missed it! Can you do it again so I can see? After all, I recorded that JUST FOR YOU and I want to see you cum to me while I cum on you! Thanks babes!"
The whole hot thing about watching videos like these is that they *are* kind of gross. I *don't* want to be there. I *don't* want a stranger's ejaculate on me. I *don't* want to synchronize our orgasms in real time. The whole point of watching porn, for me, is to NOT be involved with someone else. I can't lie -- there's definitely a freak show element to the whole thing, and I mean "freak" in the most normal sense of the word; the solitary freak we all have/are when we're alone (and if you don't have that freak element to you? I totally cannot relate).
I know all of this sounds crazy given that I have been broadcasting spycams since 2002, so obviously? People DO watch me masturbate! The thing of it is (and always has been) that the reason I do a lot of what I do is because *I* am a voyeur at heart. I offer these things because they are what I seek, not so much because I am an exhibitionist (which of course I *am*, a little, but not to the extent that I'm a voyeur). I know I would like to catch someone at her desk, awkwardly masturbating and not acknowledging me at all. I do not want it to be sexy or a "show", I want it to be authentic and authenticity is often measured in my book by how ugly it is. The more unattractive it is, the better. As the masturbator? I expect the voyeurs not to try to engage me during this process. It's *private*. That's the whole *point*. It's not supposed to look like porn, it's supposed to be real, and for it to be real, you cannot interrupt or inject yourself into the scene.
One of the things that continues to be a challenge for me as a webwhore is being able to share my turn-ons without making them sound like an invitation OR an insult. I'm a very solitary, private person in many ways, so I sometimes get overwhelmed trying to preserve alone-time; I wind up going too far in my attempts to maintain distance, to the point where it backfires on me and sometimes hurts people's feelings. How do I explain that I love watching guys jacking off on ink-rippled homemade print-outs of naked chicks or faces with their mouths open, but that when I masturbate to this I don't want to turn it into an interactive event? How do I then qualify that to say, "UNLESS you're paying me to interact with you while you do that, in which case it's totally hot!" (which is true; if you pay for my time, providing I have ample amounts of it free, then I *prefer* doing shows where I get to watch someone else masturbate; I just don't want to do that when I have a sudden 2-5 minutes when I desperately need to bust my own private girl nut).
I drafted the above entry almost a year ago and never finished/posted it. Like a lot of public posts about "what makes me horny", I feel compelled to ruin the hotness by outlining boundaries to preserve what's left of my . . . personal space, I guess you'd call it.
The weird thing is that not long after I wrote this my feeling about it changed. I became very interested in the concept of guys jerking off on my pictures and wasn't sure I wanted to send a message totally discouraging it. It's something I would like to see without them knowing I'm seeing/hearing it. I do not want to be under pressure to respond to it, but in certain situations I think I'd enjoy that, perhaps if the jerker paid for a phone call for me to (gently but pointedly) humiliate him for doing it. Or INSTRUCTED him to do it again. Maybe on the same picture. Because if I were going to TELL someone to jerk off on my picture(s), I'd make sure he knew he's not allowed to throw any of these photos away. Instead he'd have to keep every single one, including pictures of other women (with a few men thrown in for good measure). And maybe if his printer ran out of ink he'd have to reuse an already-jerked-on print-out.
This idea became so exciting to me, I began to think I'd like to collect videos of people jerking off on our pictures to post in the members-only area TrixiesHouseboy. Or sending us pictures of themselves (a la Philip Seymour Hoffman's character in Happiness) in front of a whole wall of damp printouts glued up with cum.
Part of me is telling myself you don't REALLY want to see that, Trixie. You really don't. And another part is quite certain she does.
If my "porn" were standing before the judges on American Idol, Simon would totally call it self-indulgent nonsense. Like shooting almost entirely non-nude sets of pictures with a ren-fairish flavor just because I REALLY LIKE WEARING LONG VELVET DRESSES AND THIS IS MY FAVORITE NECKLACE AND I LIKE PRANCING AROUND IN THE FOREST!! From my latest members-only update:
Most people don't "get" non-nude or softcore porn, and I do think there's a bigger market for straightforward explicit hardcore sex (and I myself prefer to masturbate to fairly explicit, genital-oriented content, though not the generic kind), but make no mistake . . . there's definitely a market for the soft stuff. I'm not sure, but I'm *guessing* that its appeal diminishes the older the model gets, but I could be wrong. I *hope* I'm wrong. Because I will proceed as though I *am* wrong about that. Because I'm totally a self-indulgent softcore kind of lady. Well, not totally. Which is what makes my site difficult to categorize since I love hardcore stuff, too.
Running a personality site means I'm selling myself -- intimate access to WHO I am -- as much as jack-off material (which is everywhere nowadays for free), but maintaining a balance can be a challenge particularly since the balance other people want to see really varies. There are a lot of people who think the porno stuff is boring and others who think the "self-indulgent" softcore/personally revealing stuff is boring. I don't get that information from my own members (who I guess usually know it's futile/counter-productive to complain about what I do/don't do), but from surfing around and reading the variety of opinions/assumptions on this matter. I gave up on trying to please "everybody" a long time ago, but still feel self-conscious sometimes KNOWING that people will look at some of what I put out there, particularly something they paid for, and will be dissatisfied. Even when you know you can't please everybody, you still feel crappy sometimes that you can't. That you know someone will be distinctly UNhappy because you're older, because you're too nasty, because you're not nasty enough, because you're shaved, because you're hairy, because you're too quiet or not quiet enough. It's a constant challenge to silence that chatter in your head of what other people might be thinking and listen only to what you yourself want and think. But when I do, I hear that I want more cheap, stretchy, crushed-velvet dresses from the thrift store. I want more of the scenery I love that is home to me. I want more cleavage and swooning and vulgar meaty thighs.
I like being suggestive without fully delivering. I wonder how much of that's a (mostly) chick thing -- enjoying having a scene set and characters drawn and then using your own imagination to fill in the blanks to your own liking whereas (most) men want all of the blanks filled in for them in explicit, glossy detail. I have actually been thinking about duplicating and reformatting the way I present some of my softcore picture sets in order to fill in some of those blanks, or ramp up to the nudity in a way that makes it feel more like a money shot once you get to it, but I'm not sure I'll ever have time for that project. I think it would be very effective, though.
Lately I feel a little tempted to stop updating my site as frequently and focus more on marketing Delia's site. Financially, that would make a lot of sense, but I don't want to do that. The fact that Delia's site significantly outsells mine does free me up to think of her site as the bread and butter that allows me to totally fuck around on mine and do whatever I want without worrying that we'll lose our main source of income when I alienate all of my members. Not that this would happen, but the appeal of Delia's site compared to mine does give me a sense of freedom that it's not all about me. It doesn't all rely upon me. That's a huge relief that allows me to end these annoying trains of insecure thought on a positive note and go back to indulging in my own flights of fancy. In the forest! Twirling around in a long dress! Wearing a gypsy necklace with amethysts! And what more do people want than my boobies, anyway?
One of the reasons I love reading Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer books is the food porn. Big boned babes and greasy spoons abound. Example from The Big Kill:
. . . .I went down the corridor to where a bunch of typewriters were banging out a madhouse symphony and asked one of the stenos where I could find Ellen Scobie. She told me that she had gone out to lunch at noon . . . . It took me about ten minutes to make the four blocks and there was Ellen in the back looking more luscious than the oversize T-bone steak she was gnawing on.
I've always wanted to shoot gluttonously sensual softcore porn, but never want to compromise my enjoyment of a good guilt-laden meal to do it. Pictures like these do inspire me, though (click images for sources):
These pictures of me in a blonde wig outside in the snow with a blue sky turned out almost exactly how I wanted them to be:
I'll be posting the full gallery of over one hundred pics for our members next week.
Tonight it's my turn to be the photographer shooting a Christmas gallery and video of Delia. We're off to a late start due to the severe winter storm warning we're under here in western Washington; it just started snowing again and is supposed to keep going for the next five days. In our town we're being hit by stuff coming in from the west AND the south, so it might get really windy. Don't be surprised if our voyeur cams go down and you don't hear from us for a time -- it will just mean we lost one or both of our internet connections and/or power.
The streets are already coated with ice so Delia made sure we went to the store to stock up on everything we'll need if we can't get out for a week. Of course we'll still be able to walk, but I got a blister on the bottom of my foot a couple of days ago when we had to go downtown and thought it safer to walk than drive; my Payless snow boots are cheap and don't fit me well so I don't want to have to trudge for miles to lug home heavy groceries.
We're staying home alone for Christmas; I'll miss seeing our nephew, but I think it's better for us and our whole family if we're not on the road. Actually, I'm really missing Delia's family right now; I love spending Christmas at her parent's house. It's the only place I've been in the past six years where I don't feel compelled to work. I plow through books, I masturbate in bed, we come down with colds and flu, and somehow it's just a huge, relaxing vacation (for me, at least -- unfortunately, Delia isn't as aroused by our bedroom being located right next door to her parents as I am).
Let me toss some tgirl-on-tgirl porn at you before I get all personal and diary-ish(click for free pics & sample vid):
This is my favorite photo in the samples and in general that whole shoot was really hot to watch, plus I love that the resulting porn is both explicit and very sensual. I need to work on my skills as a photographer shooting people other than Delia, though. With Mandy and AmberLily I didn't do a good job of stopping them and asking them to hold "poses", so as a result there were lots of blurry and awkward shots -- good ones, too, but could've been better. We're still getting used to our new camera which is FAST, but since we don't shoot with a flash or a lot of light we still have to MODEL semi-slowly even though it's tempting when you hear the shutter flying along to dance fluidly along.
Life is good -- there are lots of things going on with me which are mostly connected with making a concerted effort to have LESS things going on and focus on a few high priority things. Right now my personal priorities are:
-exercising consistently (today will be five days in a row) -eating less sugar and starches -going to twelve step meetings & getting healthier emotionally and spiritually -cutting back on a few things to make room for a) making money more efficiently and b) doing more things that I love
The past couple of years my body has become more and more of a challenge for me to feel good about, mostly because I never got into the habit of taking care of it except for getting enough sleep. With the added pressure (and wake-up-calls) of trying to get pregnant but not being able to, it's gotten to the point where I feel really shitty with a litany of symptoms and complaints and hypochondriac fantasies. Long story short, I need to put myself and my health first before everything (and everybody) else.
A lot of times I sacrifice my own needs and desires to work which really is stupid because I can't *do* this kind of work very well when my body feels like shit and I don't provide myself with pleasure on all levels. I can barely stand to look at myself which is, ummm, pretty counterproductive for shooting porn (and editing/posting/selling it myself where I have to look at myself and love myself to do a good job). It's not that everything looks shitty, but seriously -- it's not only difficult for me to bend over to tie my shoes these days, it's PHYSICALLY PAINFUL. My guts fucking hurt.
Before people rush to simple judgments like, "duh! That's what happens when you sit on your ass all day", etc. let me offer a little perspective and extend some leniency to myself; there are definitely some hormonal problems contributing to my issues (all of the thyroid / infertility / depression / migraine / too-much-testosterone stuff and more all connected in a which-came-first/chicken-egg circle of insanity) plus the stuff we've been going through with alcoholism that no one has really been aware of or how it's been effecting us; *I* haven't even been aware of how much of my energy was going into trying to cope with it.
One of the unexpected bonuses of Delia getting sober is that I got to enter recovery too. Only I totally didn't anticipate how hard it would be or that I would totally fucking freak out (which I did, surprisingly, really fall-the-fuck apart the first month and couldn't really understand why when I thought I would just feel relieved and everything would be bliss and perfection). Now that Delia is sober and I'm not constantly thinking about her and trying to control her drinking, I'm left with the way bigger, scarier challenge and problem of mySELF and my own fucked-upedness. Patterns of behavior and sickness that I had before Delia and I ever even met.
I feel really optimistic, excited and fortunate right now, but I also feel like I need a lot of space and time and patience to get healthy in more ways than one. It takes more than a week or a month or three months or a year to feel relief, to figure out what to change (and what IS changing whether you want it to or not), to adapt, and to grow into new ways of doing things. I'm kind of tired and have a lot of stuff to process and let go of so just mending my body, our relationship and going to meetings right now is enough to keep me very occupied. I'd say that I'm sorry I don't have more left over to spread around and to keep doing all the things I was trying to do, but I'm not sorry. I'm happy to be focused on what's important.
Note: I'm leaving comments open for people who want to remark on the Delia & Mandy shoot or those who have their own personal sharing/relating on the subjects I talked about, but I usually do not feel helped by comments containing unsolicited advice, analysis of me/us/our lives and/or criticism even when I know they're well-intentioned.
If you follow my twitter you know I went to Seattle for FootNight on Thursday thanks to AmberLily giving me a heads-up about the event and encouraging me to apply with her to be a "foot model". It was a good opportunity to get out of my nerdy hermit bubble and enjoy having my feet fondled (something I've always enjoyed).
It was also a good excuse for me to get a pedicure: an expense and investment of time I rarely can justify since I don't specialize in foot fetish porn (though we do try to include at least a few shots of my feet in most of my galleries).
99.99% of the sexually stimulating work I've done has been on the internet or over the phone, starting out with private shows on iFriends in 2000. Even though I enjoy private shows and phone, I have almost no time to do one-on-one stuff anymore (especially since the camworld is so much different from when I started) but I *miss* it, so attending FootNight was a way to get back to that a little bit while also experiencing something new in a safe environment with an emphasis on something I love: feet.
The rules were very clear for the event (no nudity, foot worship only, no direct sexual contact, no leaving the party with customers and coming back in, etc.) and all of the women were dressed to attend a nice cocktail party or fine art fetish shoot: black turtleneck dresses, shiny black corsets, etc. In my estimation, I was the only one dressed in a way that said, "it's all for sale, boys! I'm a total hussy!" with my blouse buttons bursting, my skirt way too short and my boobs bouncing all over the place. I was also the most nervous person there, I think, next to many of the guests with my knees practically knocking trying to walk up and down the stairs in my unimpressively practical (but still challenging for me) heels and very unsophisticated sweat stains accumulating under my arms. The truth is that I don't have any classy party garb that's also sexy/leg-baring that I can still fit into.
Besides, I didn't want to go to great lengths to "fit in"; I figured it was better to stand out looking like a tramp than try to blend in. On top of that I love upskirts and panties and have much more of that kind of thing than feet on my site so I was excited by the idea of having men on the ground below me able to see right up my skirt to my hot pink and black panties. Even if it wasn't THEIR thing, it's MY thing; I don't get out much and planned to milk the tease for all it was worth.
I don't actually think I have great feet; the only thing I have going for me is that they're exceptionally small, but at the party there were A LOT of women with small feet. Maybe not quite as small as mine, but there were plenty of size five and six chicks there. All that small-foot competition gave me yet another reason to be glad I had a corner on the market for the super-slutty look.
So WAS there a market for it? Not so much, I don't think, but wearing something less conspicuously trashy wouldn't have made a difference. There were a couple of guys who expressed quite a bit of appreciation for the upskirt action, but as far as I know I didn't have guys waiting in line to spend time with me and my feet at $20 for ten minutes. I kept busy and had fun, but probably only gained one new die-hard fan for the future.
The first guy to give me money wasn't even there because he liked feet. He was there on a mission with a bottle of Scotch to try to get back into Lady Lydia's good graces. He told me he'd been rude to her on the phone so she'd stopped talking to him and all he could hope for is that she would accept his gift, if not his apology.
In the process of relating this to me, he reached into his pocket with defeated contrition, pulled out a twenty and assured me that he KNEW the ONLY reason we ladies were there was to make money. "I know it's all business and I don't want to waste your time." I told him that if he was going to pay me, we should at least retreat to a more private area (ie a different couch farther from the door) so I could make sure to give him the time that he paid for even if he didn't care about my feet or really anything besides Lady Lydia. He and I also agreed that our move and the open exchange of money for time would serve as a model early in the evening for the other guys to take similar steps to secure special attention from the "models".
After forty dollars worth of talking he felt compelled to resume his tortured quest to adequately humble himself to Lady Lydia. Even though it was the first face-to-face transaction I'd made like that, it felt very familiar . . . very natural to the point where I'm sure I'm forgetting a whole lifetime of doing exactly that: being the whore that men pay just to listen. Of course there've been a few other times I've gotten money from men face-to-face for certain things, but the circumstances were less formal and the terms not at all clearcut. No, I don't think I ever blogged about them even though they'd make interesting reading. Much of my limited experience with photographers felt exactly like sex work too, even though they took great pains not to call it that -- not to even call it porn -- and they didn't pay me with money; all factors that made it MORE compromising and awkward than work that's commonly labeled as sex work.
Anyway, Lydia's guy probably only wanted to spend twenty dollars on me out of obligation because I'd practically forced him to tell me his story simply by introducing myself, but my timer's battery wore out making it difficult for me to keep accurate time. I'm still not sure if my unreliable timer worked in my favor or against me; on the one hand I wound up giving people more time than they paid for before I realized the timer had no intention of beeping. On the other, they sometimes paid for more since I would discover this too late for them to turn down the next ten minutes since they were already in progress. We were advised by the party organizers to keep a discreet eye on the time but my timer was NOT discreet AT ALL; I pulled that fucker out at the beginning of every session and beeped in ten or eleven minutes in a very obvious way, nerdily assuring them this would help me NOT be distracted from the fun we could have by worrying about the time while they raised their eyebrows and mumbled that I certainly was . . . prepared. If it had actually worked and sounded an alarm at the end of those minutes, I'm sure it would have annoyed a great many people so maybe it was all for the best.
I felt busy the whole time I was there, but didn't really make enough for the trip to be worth what I put into it between the pedicure, ferry, gas, and time that I could have spent doing more lucrative things (like finishing the years-overdue redesign on my site and Delia's and this blog and . . .). Still, it was worth it to me because it was FUN, super-erotic (I'll elaborate on in another post) and a reminder of how good it feels to connect with customers individually.
It was also worth it to have BigD snap his suspenders at me, "work" with AmberLily to doubleteam a guy with our feet (again, I'll elaborate in another entry), and to meet Lydia (I only realized when I got home that she's the one Ron has told me so much about with so much admiration), Reyja (a fellow Emma Steel), and Mistress Matisse. We women didn't have much time to stand around chatting with each other, but after so many years of reading Matisse's blog and communicating online even the little bit we have via email and blog comments it felt to me like we were cousins at a reunion. You know how there are people that feel like they're in your life -- that you're related to in some way -- even though you only see each other face-to-face a couple times in your life and rarely interact? That's what it was like being in the same room with Matisse: totally uncommon but still irrationally familiar. In fact, that's what being with customers face-to-face is like. There wasn't anything weird or new about it that I didn't recognize as the same as a million other interactions I've had and kinds of work I've done which is probably what made it so hard for me to accept that I couldn't just climb on top of a couple of these guys and fuck them dry for a few dollars more. Not that any of them asked for that (everything was very above-board, no-pressure, polite, and legal), I'm just saying it's hard for me to accept the stigmas, restrictions, and separateness attached to sex work and all the little subtleties built into some of them so that they can avoid being labeled as such.
These pics of me wearing shiny thigh-high boots are from a new set of photos I'm posting for my members soon:
My mom, sister and nephew spent a couple of nights with us so I haven't gotten much work done the past few days, but here are a few posts you might have missed with examples of my masturbation fodder. For those of you who are curious about what I get off on when I have a couple minutes to pursue such things, lately I head to Rude for the homemade masturbation videos guys upload there themselves (I know the ads are annoying, but I'm a member so I don't have to see them):
EXPOSED MEMBERS: As you can tell by the number of videos regular guys post online for free featuring themselves jacking off -- sometimes in the most humiliating of ways -- a lot of men are not only exhibitionists, but get off on the idea of being forced or coerced into exposing themselves in embarrassing ways, being laughed at, having their penises inspected, and being ordered to masturbate for onlookers. There's even a porn niche called "CFNM" (clothed female nude male) featuring men at the mercy of women who make them do these things for their entertainment.
CFNM is one of my favorite types of fetish scenarios because it revolves around the fantasy of women making men perform "against their will" with the balance of power being tipped in women's favor (pretty unusual in porn). I also love role plays with a lot of build-up, which most CFNM scenes have. There's a new site called CFNM Secret which is a fun attempt by one of the big corporate porn giants to exploit this market. I personally prefer Pure CFNM because they seem to "get it" more, but maybe CFNM Secret will appeal to a broader audience. I'm not so much into scenes where the chicks suck and fuck the guys, and I prefer for the men to look psychologically TORMENTED and completely aghast at being unable to control their own sexual response, but pretty much any CFNM scene turns me on way more than generic porn unless it's the bachelorette party scenario where they go wild for male strippers (yawn).
I understand why guys enjoy fantasizing about being male strippers, but as someone who's been to events where they've been hired, even when those dudes are outnumbered and getting paid they still act like they're in charge of us and what happens, and that pisses me off. I will never forget the fucker who came to a bachelorette party and overstayed his welcome for HOURS lecturing us on NAFTA while most of the girls tolerated and even encouraged it while I drunkenly got in his face telling him he was WAY out of line, to shut the fuck up and to leave. Fifteen years later, the memory of it STILL makes me mad. The only time I've seen a male stripper behave properly (submit to women and entertain them, rather than himself) was a black guy with a circus penis (down to his knee, NO JOKE) at a house party with mostly black women. He kept his mouth shut and performed without acting like he needed to intimidate us. He was eager to please and seemed to genuinely get off on being in a submissive position without demanding extra attention. We got to USE him and he seemed to know that was what he was there for.
As I write this I am fully aware that I would freak out if I saw a guy writing about female sex workers this way; I know I have a double standard on this (men who are hired to entertain women should KEEP THEIR YAPS SHUT), but there's still a double standard in the Americas with men doing most of the talking and controlling and women doing most of the submitting and listening. I can't help it that role plays reversing that power imbalance are a turn-on to me both sexually and emotionally. It's like therapy; I get a big charge out of it.
After taking swimming lessons as a kid, I haven't spent much time in pools, but I want to get in the water more often so I dusted off my old rubber swim cap (barely used), bought a new one (the purple one below) and replaced the old broken rubber strap on my goggles. I tried everything on during one of my webcam chats last week and was extremely pleased with the results:
I can't tell you how much I love wearing my swim caps -- it has all the pleasure of a corset without the hassle and expense. A corset for your BRAINS! They're snappy, squeaky, thick and delicious and wearing them reminds me how glamorous I thought women were who wore do-rags and turbans when I was very young. LOVE! I am INCHES away from shaving off my hair and wearing swim caps full time (and paired with earplugs it would be delicious deprivation of auditory perception). Except without the hair I don't know if it would be as pleasurable to remove the swim cap after thirty minutes or more of wear; there would be less hair-pulling, but too much cold to enjoy the slow expansion of the head and hair-floof back to maximum size.
And don't even get me started on goggles . . . this is my LOOK! I think it's totally cool when there's a reflection on just one lens.
Swimming was fun, but I went alone and was actually nervous about doing something new: would they have lockers and if so, would they provide locks and keys and something to hold onto the key while I'm swimming? Would I have to pay for each scheduled event I stayed for or only the first thing I showed up for? Would I be horribly slow and block faster, fitter people from enjoying their laps?
I managed to go despite these nagging anxieties and enjoyed myself, even if I can't seem to swim in a straight line and kept kicking the wall during my sidestroke and wound up with a scraped foot. I love being immersed in the water. I love the colors and sounds of an indoor pool. I love everything being muffled and wet and full of vapor. I love floating and turning and being thick and mobile.
I felt calm and heavy afterwards. It's good stuff. In fact, I went back for more and posted a confession/fantasy today for members that I had about myself and the nerdy lifeguard.
Connie Francis Sings the All Time International Hits
When I was little I used to play a particular Connie Francis album (like, an actual vinyl record; they had those when I was growing up) over and over again which I've not been able to find, nor can I found on cd most of the songs that were on it which BREAKS my heart. But OH, youtube, you have allowed me to hear these songs again:
"What Now, My Love? (ET MAINTENANT)
I wish I could find a picture of the album cover because I *worshiped* her (along with the "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" girl). Just one picture of Connie Francis, a column of majestic, sensual, unsmiling beauty.
Name one contemporary pop singer who holds a CANDLE to this woman! Oh my god. And her presentation: women are not admired anymore for being regal and occupying an ageless space that doesn't smack of jailbait.
Wait! The photo from the album is displayed in the 25th second of this one (wish it was in color like on the album; her dress was pink):
"And I Love Him"
The muted trumpet in here drives me MAD with its ballsy drama:
I desperately wish this guy posted all of the songs, because there are some great ones missing. Still, I'm so jazzed to hear that voice singing these songs again. I know I LEARNED things from listening to that album, from listening to her and looking at that photograph of her.
Oh dear, here's another one that EXCITED me:
Oooh, I found the picture even if it is undersized:
I'm in a funk right now, mostly owing to PMS. The weather has been a bit gloomy; even when it's sunny out there's a shadow of oppressive darkness hanging around. See how it's crushing our dog? Tiny purple weed flowers growing close to the ground. You don't even feel like stretching.
How about some movie-talk? We saw Iron Man. We went into it prepared for the bad aspects; it was a ridiculous blockbuster MOVIE-movie, and we needed that for the mindless entertainment factor. I loved the metal King Kong and the flying-against-the-fighter-jets scenes. It was nowhere near a V for Vendetta type of flick, but it's still special to see a big movie in the theater with a lefty storyline. One annoying detail sticks out in my mind above all others: armpits. Was it my imagination, or were his armpits shaved after supposed months in captivity? If so, gross. That's the epitome of a fucked-up dose of contemporary unreality.
I definitely think we should all thank our lucky stars Robert Downey Jr. got the title role instead of Cage or Cruise. He's been wank material for me since I was a teen watching Less Than Zero when James Spader made him get on his knees and suck some cock to pay for drugs. I so wish that scene was hardcore or even just a minute longer (since it wasn't I relied heavily upon the straight scenes for "inspiration"). I loved Secretary and all, but I'd really rather have seen a long redux of that interrupted BJ scene. Maybe this time it could have been Jake instead of Maggie joining RDJ to perform sweaty, tear-stained head on some large coked-up stallion. Robert, you STILL have the most lickable, greasy eyelids in film. And I will never forget the way you told us you were getting "chubby" in Shortcuts.
If you want a sense of what my days have been like lately, check here.
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 . . .
I found this video while researching fat belly fetish movies to get ideas for a small plumper site I want to make with my chubby pictures:
Like the last video I posted, I know it's just supposed to be "funny" but I actually adore it (and think the sprinkler and body slam shots were *hot*); you can always count on me to love videos of people dancing and grooving without trying to look cool. I mean, I also love watching people dance better, but even more I love seeing regular people expressing themselves and making their whole bodies giggle and shriek.
I always intended to make a chubby Trixie site, but I have lots of ideas that I don't have time for so I've never done anything with it (even though I have a couple of domains that are perfect for it: JellyRollJane.com and RubenX.com. Right now my belly is probably bigger than it's ever been, though, so I have a few more photos than usual I've been reluctant to post on my regular site AND I'm constantly trying to hide how big it is during shoots; that's SILLY since it would be so easy for us to take about 25 more pictures each shoot that EMPHASIZE my belly fat and would be marketable to a unique audience.
I do feel guilty and self-conscious about even admitting I want to segregate my roly-poly belly pictures from my other photos (the ones where I don't make a point of showing how big my pot belly is); I know that a lot of people like the belly fat and I know that I'm always talking the big talk about sharing myself in all of my natural glory (hence the almost-in-your-face menstruation stuff, etc.) BUT I'm definitely reluctant to highlight rolls of belly fat, cellulite and double chins in the members-only area of TastyTrixie.com. It's still all *there*; I'm not actually hiding it from members (and I do have some fairly in-your-face chub pics and galleries), I'm just not sure about taking it to the next level of really fetishizing those parts of myself and the truth is that I kind of want to.
I remember the first time we shot photos meant to augment the sight of my belly fat; it was SO AWESOME, the feeling of letting go and letting it all hang out instead of sucking it in and drawing attention to anything BUT my belly. Because I am quite chubby looking right now, I could really stand to have some fun with it instead of worrying about people who join my site not anticipating they're getting a chubby chick. And people? Don't even try to reassure me about this one; I'm just being realistic; YES I know there are lots of people who will adore me no matter what. Unfortunately I am neither in-shape NOR fat enough to turn-on chubby chasers to the extent of making a real living off of it. I am average; the best I can hope for with my site when it comes to my body is to attract members who are aroused by an average body type; I'm pretty sure most of those guys can tolerate and/or are aroused by a little extra padding but a REALLY bulging belly with an obvious overhang and many rolls of fat? I think that would alienate and turn-off a lot of my audience; Lord only knows I already do enough to alienate and turn-off my fans so adding the really big taboo of fat on top of that is probably not a wise business decision. Again, it's not that I don't show off fatness on my site (you know I love showing off the backphat, especially) but I'm concerned that if I take it much farther (belly-jiggling videos, videos of me overeating/talking about how much I love to eat/describing how I'm getting bigger, hiding toys & dildos in my folds, pooching out my belly as far as it will go, etc.) that people will be . . . confused.
I started compiling more fat-focused photo galleries today and it felt SO GOOD to look FOR really chubby pics instead of hoping not to come across them. Looking at pictures of my belly hanging over my waistband suddenly became a joy instead of a nuisance simply because I started looking at them from the perspective of people who specifically SEEK OUT that look for masturbation fodder.
While I do have some reservations about catering to fat fetishists, if I just make a small collection available OFF my main site then it won't require a lot of time or long-term commitment (and I won't have to pay for the fall-out of alienating the average-body fans). Part of me just really wants to give expression to the growing magnificence of this part of my body along with some of my food fantasies. I have a lot of specialty interests (gloves, bubblegum, stockings, feet, taboo roleplays, and numerous underground fetishes) but my chub is something I feel especially suited to explore right at this moment in time.
It will be a good experiment, anyway, and for those of you who *do* want to see it and are already members? I will figure out how to share it with by request and/or some of it will show up on TastyTrixie anyway in spite of my reservations and/or could be combined with FertileTrixie; the pregnancy fetish is complex enough that it also encompasses people who like seeing women growing/inflating and might crossover enough with the fat belly stuff I'm doing that it will all meld together in a delicious vat of plump 'n pregnant stew.
Shit -- I hope I'm not talking this up too much and getting people's hopes up; I'm not talking about investing a whole lot of time in making special content like this so DON'T GET TOO EXCITED all ye fans of fat! I'm just looking forward to shooting some stuff that doesn't require me to try to be attractive from head to toe and allows me to express another part of my personality. Fetish stuff can be such a relief to shoot because people don't spend as much time looking at "the whole package"; you are beautiful to them just for having the right color of nail polish or a strong prescription for glasses . . . or an abundance of skin folds and wobbly flesh around your midsection.
On top of all of that, I have always wanted to see more porn featuring women who are truly average/just a little bit overweight and in porn? That's kind of hard to find since the industry focuses on extremes.
I know there are some twisted thoughts in this post and some unclear/contradictory thinking so yeah; I know my feelings, values and thoughts are muddled and maybe fucked up. If anyone wants to leave comments, I'm most interested in looking at this from a business point of view and hearing from people who consider themselves BBWs AND from fans on whether or not belly fat turns YOU on -- I don't want to hear polite reassurances (though I thank you for your kindness), only the truth if it turns you OFF or if it's really something you dig.
Are you surprised that this is a huge turn-on to me?
Seriously -- it makes me HOT. Those of you who know me well can tell I'm being honest because any guy who sounds sort of like Chewbacca is going to get me hot (I never had an eye for Luke Skywalker; it was *all* about Chewie and Han Solo . . . well, and Princess Leia, but anyway); I also dig their disparate heights. I *might* have been even more receptive to it after first enjoying a couple of other la Pequeña Amy Winehouse videos to get me in the mood. They are perfect -- BRILLIANT! Here's one of them:
I wish my porn was that awesome. This goes in the "inspiration" folder.
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!!!!
We saw/heard these guys perform "Patty Lee" last night on Conan and can't stop replaying it over and over again; the sound and performance are SMASHING, embodying everything I would like my porn to be:
I haven't been this excited about hearing something new (to me) in a long time, and I'm SERIOUS that it inspires me as a pornographer/entertainer. I love hearing something so beautiful and defiant and seeing someone portray the most committed expressions of sensuality and felt belief in a way that's so funny and human and TRUE. I watch that guy dance and hear that Big Country-ish guitar and the THRILLING neener of a song like "Been Caught Stealing" and I FEEL the agonizingly hysterically-funny beautiful truth of it; I can totally relate. I'm in love.
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.
Delia had a sperm deposit to make in Seattle on Thursday. On our way to catch the ferry, we stopped for Chicken McNuggets on Bainbridge Island. I went inside quickly while Delia waited in the car and thought I saw an old familiar face of someone I fucked (and adored) years ago: Brian the Cop. I only saw him briefly out of the corner of my eye sitting at a table in back with some other men and dismissed the feeling of recognition to hurry and fill up our pop and get on our way so we wouldn't miss our boat. When I went back outside and noticed a police car with K-9 Unit written all over it, I realized it really must have been him and became GIDDY remembering how senselessly attracted I was to him.
This past year I've thought a lot about my promiscuous post-divorce adventures and the guys I met through a mutual interest in sex. I've thought about how they were all pretty decent fellows and that I was lucky to cross paths with them. I've thought about how unfairly mean and dismissive I was to some of them in my retarded early blog posts. I didn't have much in common with most of them, but I did like them and I feel even more fond of them now that they're cute little memories I can wonder about and wish well from a distance.
As I get older, I also feel guiltier and more conscious of some things I've done (or failed to do) that were idiotic, insensitive, unforgivably horrid, self-indulgent and/or just plain embarrassing. In fact, just the day or two before the Brian sighting I was spanking myself internally with mortification over the memory of how my retarded and unjustifiable infatuation with Brian the Cop led me to make my sorta-girlfriend at the time cry. I was inexcusably mean and stupid, and I enjoyed the whole fantastically dramatic mess.
Seeing him again, albeit fleetingly, made me forgive myself. He's stupid, I'm stupid -- we're all stupid. And beautiful. It doesn't matter what a goon the guy was, it WORKED for me and it's just not human to deny that some people electrify your insides in spite of how wrong they are for you. I'm thankful I never got the chance to completely ruin my life over someone like that and feel blessed that I got to enjoy the silly thrill of it all.
He was 6'4" and his penis was on the small side. He was a premature ejaculator and he had this song playing on his website. He was big and hairy and ridiculous and I loved every lie he told me. When I expressed interest in humping his assault rifle, he followed through and brought it over for me. Though I loved seeing its sexy blackness laying on my bed, I had to admit with disappointment that it wasn't designed for humping and that his hand and small penis were much better suited to my genitals.
I grinned like an idiot all the way to the ferry terminal and chuckled to myself over the bad fucking joke of it all. While we waited for the boat to arrive, Delia left the car to go to the bathroom and I looked around the holding area wondering if I'd see Brian jump out with one of his big German Shepherds to sniff out drugs and terrorists. I wanted to see him again without him seeing me.
I got distracted from thoughts of Brian when I saw a beautiful brunette woman in the distance and immediately felt a pang of attraction, that "WHO is THAT?!?" moment, before realizing a split second later that I actually knew her, too!
It was Delia coming back from the bathroom. Lucky, lucky, lucky times three (billion) because that woman in the distance is my girlfriend and it's no accident she's walking towards me.
Being Average: My use of the word "average" as a webwhore marketing tool has changed over the past seven years. I used to focus on the ways I was not average to try to distinguish myself from other camgirls and women with paysites. Hairier than average, more honest than average, nerdier than average, etc.
The longer I do this work, the more I value the ways in which I *am* average, partly because average is charming and partly because of the company I keep online. Most of the people I associate with in this industry are women with similar values, similarly structured businesses, and above-average smarts; next to my friends I *am* average. I now prefer to think of us as the rule instead of the exception; it's less interesting or appealing to me these days to make it sound like I think I'm extraordinary by describing myself as "not your average webwhore".
As I age and mellow into my work and my body, embracing "average" appeals to me. It looks and sounds intimately awkward and fetchingly familiar. It feels celebratory and empowering. Average exudes confidence. I'm also a fan of contrast and its erotic potential: the contrast between a thick, opaque thigh-high sock, for example, and bare skin above it is SO much sexier than a completely naked leg. The same thing applies to beauty, I think. When you notice a beautiful detail on an average (or even an ugly) woman, it's very potent and sensual. When you're average and aging, your beauty and sex appeal become magical: now you see it, now you don't. You become unreliably hot, which is very seductive because it starts to take you by surprise.
The older I get, the less interested I am in trying to be exceptional. The sound of mediocrity no longer makes me shudder; mediocrity sounds companionable. On a similar note, I no longer hate potluck food: cold noodle salads and deviled eggs are delicious!
I got a girly foot job today. Because there was a special half-off deal going on. And because we rented a nice room to shoot in tomorrow and really, what's the point in blowing money on a fancy room to shoot swank nudey pics if your toes look nasty?
My "nail technician" was a cute heavy-set blonde with her hair done up in Bjorkesque knots. She was not much taller than I am so her arms were pretty short in comparison to her boobs which stuck out a lot. As a result, my toes patted and prodded her fluffy pillows of breastage. During the massage portion, my feet (one at a time) were even engulfed in her cleavage.
I know you all think I'm a total fucking pervert who couldn't help but get off on this sexually, but honestly I kept my thoughts pure in spite of the pleasant feeling of my feet touching a cute-looking woman's breasts. I *do* love touching people with my feet on both a sensual and sexual level, but I got the feeling that this girl was fairly new to her craft; she seemed very preoccupied, as though she were trying to follow a script she learned at beauty school or was handed by the salon owner.
I'm guessing it's probably difficult to have her body invaded like that when she's trying to work and that she has to do some mental and emotional work-arounds to deal with having strangers' feet jabbing and patting and smushing against her tits. My feet are really small so I can only imagine that people with normal or large feet REALLY press up against her. Given her inexperience and her personality I just felt sort of awkward on her behalf. Awkward in a way that would be hot if it were fiction, but that any decent woman could resist eroticizing (at the time, anyway). My nail technician seemed to hold her cards close to her chest when I tried to get her to talk trash about our respective towns; she avoided say anything very personal or in a familiar tone.
She was pleasant, but clearly had her guard up. I chalk it up to the boobs and being new to her trade, but it might also have been because her boss could hear us. Regardless, I felt it was NOT the time to be getting all horny over the feet-on-boobs action. Even when I saw my little toeprints-made-of-lotion dotting the front of her black shirt. Even when she said, "you're still wet so I'm going to keep you here a little longer." Even then, I did not allow myself to indulge in x-rated fantasies.
"But Trixie, it's not like she could read your mind! Why censor your thoughts?"
BECAUSE. Sometimes dirty thoughts leak out like bad gas and fill a room with discomfort. I believe they do, anyway. Some people can intuitively pick up on someone else's hard-on, even if it's purely mental and poses no physical threat. I have no desire to victimize a professional nail technician even if the victimization is only happening in my head. It's just disrespectful . . . sometimes you have to rise above your baser instincts. Without acting rigid and readably uncomfortable, you have to detach yourself, particularly when you see that the other person is sending signals that detachment is what she needs.
People who touch other people for a living without actually doing sex work -- therapeutic massage, nails, hair, facials (haha), etc. -- still provide very intimate services that are supposed to make customers feel good, physically and emotionally. I think they go home feeling similarly emotionally exhausted by the shifty boundaries they've dealt with all day, touching people's sweatiest places, hearing their stories, trying to be receptive to chat while not annoying clients by talking TOO much themselves (or entertaining clients who like that sort of thing). I think they deserve a lot of respect (and good tips) for that and deserve to preserve some boundaries; I would just feel wrong about violating that, even in my head. Especially when my feet are already on her boobs.
The heavenly spa was BUSY on Thursday and I had at least three unaccompanied hours to myself to simply gaze at the naked babes, ranging in age from eighteen to eighty, as they roamed from one vat of water to others.
So many, MANY boobies. All so exquisitely perfect and naturally crafted. All different nipple colors, shapes, sizes, and degrees of firmness and size. Every time I thought I'd spotted the perfect pair, a new set would quiver into view and I could barely contain my amazement and deep appreciation for the artistry of the human body, particularly in the chest area of females (though there were buttloads of beautiful ass and thigh that made it hard for me to keep myself from quaking and speaking in tongues of worship).
The most amazing rack I saw was on the oldest woman there. Her rear end was shot all to hell, as you'd expect on an elderly woman: atrophied, dimpled, etc. The rest of her body was regular, though, and her big-ass titties? THEY WERE THE BREASTS OF A HEALTHY WELL-PRESERVED 40 YEAR OLD. I swear to God, I'd have swapped knockers with her -- they were NICE. And no, they were absolutely not fake; they definitely hung fairly low, but they still seemed plump and defiantly youthful.
Anyway, you just don't see that kind of overwhelmingly delicious VARIETY of body types and differently-goddess-like attributes in any place at one time. Unless you're a chick at the spa. I hope they don't ban me for saying this, but it's like a STEAL getting an all day pass to to stare at that for only thirty bucks!!!
I wanted to be able to lay someone down on their stomach and still get access to the fun parts. Sometimes I lie on the floor and do CBT on boys from that angle. It’s more scary for them when not only can they not see what’s coming, they can’t even see me. Once I draped the bottom with fabric and had Jae hiding underneath there like an evil little sprite under a bridge. Wasn’t that boy startled when he saw me standing several feet away and felt…someone/something… touching his bits. It was delightful.
. . . . a fat old Boss Hog man in a three-piece suit asked me upstairs to a private room . . . . When I leaned towards him, his put his hand on my pussy. Then he worked his hand under my g-string. He fingered me. I smiled. I repeat: I didn’t know what was expected of me.
He played with my clit. I danced as though unaware, but hell, it felt good. It did. One of my fantasies was for an ugly old fat man to finger me in the Champagne Room. I’d masturbated to that fantasy for years, as there was something so hot and so ugly and so wrong and so good about it.
I came in less than a minute.
Part of me wants to remind people reading this that it should not be assumed that those of us who have this fantasy are issuing open free-for-all invitations to have it fulfilled, just that every so often under the "right" circumstances fantasy and reality can intersect. I just really don't want Stefanie to be bombarded with emailed photos of ugly fat men offering to fingerbang her, because I don't think that's the point of her telling the story (or of me saying that reading it aroused me a whole bunch).
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 woke up early yesterday to pee, only to step into a puddle; it was raining, and our bathroom floor covered with water. We have a leak somewhere on the roof that trickles down into the fan and seeps out around the edges (we never use the fan, fyi). After that discovery I had a difficult time falling back to sleep, but when I did? Sex dreams.
I dreamt I was extremely aroused and licking my own pussy. I wasn't contorting or anything, it's just like my vulva was detached and right in front of my face, like a photo spread come to life. I greatly enjoyed sucking on my clit, except that it was much smaller than it is in real life; at the crest of the hood there was barely any bump, but whatever -- I couldn't get enough of it. It seems I'd trimmed more than usual, too, so there were quarter-inch blonde whiskers making slightly prickly feelings on my mouth. I had an orgasm or more.
Wondering whether or not I'm pregnant? If so, READ THIS.
It's a lovely day, both foggy and rainy. I'm looking forward to taking a shower and doing a shoot or two of some kind, then posting my members-only update (probably much later tonight). I'm not sure if I'll post whatever we shoot today, or pull something older out of the stash. I also have some self-sucking pics to post in the Trixie's Houseboy members-only area, but those may have to wait until later to go up.
Since we added another spycam site to our lineup and a couple of new SPLENDID webcams adding two new views of our bedroom, I have felt a LOT less stressed out. With three camsites to rely upon, I feel much less concerned about what our members will think if one of them takes a temporary dive (as the one we've come to rely upon the most has been doing too often). I feel much more relaxed knowing there are seven+ awesome live plugins on our sites for members (SpyOnYou, VoyeurBrazil, HouseCamz, Rude Houses, SexCamCentral, AmateurCamz, and Rude Shows).
I know that sounds like a big fat advertisement. That's because it IS a big fat advertisement, but only secondarily. The main reason I'm mentioning it is because this is a journal, and I feel really happy about the new stuff (and maintained old stuff) on our sites. More than anything else on our sites, I tend to stress out about the spycams because they're an around-the-clock obligation. Anytime we add more spycams or get greater stability or more access to other people's cams for our members it makes me VERY HAPPY. The more live content we offer, the more I feel a cozy buffer between me and "fucking up". It's like an airbag; if there's an emergency or an accident and I don't do a great job with one aspect of our sites or if one of the sites we appear on goes down then there's a safety net of all this other stuff to keep members happy. Sure, I know that's not enough for everyone and I know we can always do *more*, but in terms of my own sense of anxiety and accomplishment I feel a lot "more better" lately about our sites and less compelled to be checking the cams constantly or ripping my hair out when I discover some of them are down. It's just a huge relief for me.
We just got home from seeing the latest Harry Potter movie. I *adored* Dolores Umbridge; lately I've been smacking my lips over crone villains and she did NOT disappoint.
I thought the effects for the combat scene between Dumbledore and Voldemort were worth the price of admission alone.
I'm not fanatical about the Harry Potter books so I never feel any disappointment about plot elements or details being left out of the movies; I prefer the movies to the books in all but the first case and mainly just care about the villains and the pretty moving pictures. Okay, maybe I do care a wee bit more than that, seeing how I almost started blubbering tonight watching Voldemort inside Harry and then seeing Harry flashback on all of his pleasant memories of smiles, hugs and friendship. I'm a sucker!!
We also saw a preview for Transformers which I've had no desire to see until tonight when I heard and saw all of the dirty (but still shiny!) clanging metal moving around menacingly. I wish we could see it just that way, with all the inane dialogue taken out leaving nothing but score and . . . clanging, transforming metal.
While I'm on the subject of machines, let me tell you that I reviewed a scene from COPS over and over the other night. There was something about this particular cop with his shaved head and blonde hairy arms, but what initially got me excited was just the sound of his engine revving and the car changing gears as he chased a speeder. Then I got *really* excited when the guy he caught was very stupid and bratty, and the cop tried to be patient with him and give him lots of chances which resulted in the cop repeating directions ("keep your hands on your head!")over and over again, then having to reach out and manhandle him sternly, but not to put him in cuffs at first, but just to re-situate the guy's hands as though his detainee was a naughty schoolboy. LOVED it. BIG turn on. HARD to explain, but when the dumbass quivered and giggled when the cop grabbed him by the wrist suddenly to pull his hand out of his pocket, it just . . . aroused me.
I'm here, just feeling the pull to be away from the computer (or at least not communicating through it).
Honestly, the only thing I feel like blogging about is So You Think You Can Dance and my big-ass crush on Faina. Fans who want to know my "type"? All I can say is that both her and her brother, Stanislav, from last year are HOT. I know, you think I don't like skinny girls. I know, I don't usually like blondes (re: Stan). But these two give me SHIVERS. I could watch them all night.
Everyone said this little number was horrid, and it does look stupider when you can't see her hot pointy little facial features with her hair whipping around in her face, but I could watch her doing this over and over and over all night long. Might be my long sock fetish feeding into it, but I just think she's SO hot, especially doing these moves that are sort of awkward with her long skinny limbs. FUCKING HOT:
I imagine there's something about her and Stanislav's personalities that the type of people who love them aren't the type of people who sit around all night casting cell phone votes for them. I love their icy steamy hotness (but we never vote). Yum, yum, YUM. Here they are dancing together:
I could watch her mouth and legs moving around for a whole month and never get bored.
On our journey to my mom's house yesterday one of our tires blew out on the freeway. Cool! Getting towed and having a couple new tires put on did eat into our shoot-time, but oh well . . . we have AAA and it was a fun white trash adventure, being stuck on the side of the freeway near the Microsoft campus with all of the fancy Eastside cars whizzing past our beater van. Plus I *love* the smell of new tires -- the ordeal was worth it to sit in Les Schwab inhaling the scent of fresh black rubber and boys in coveralls.
Good news: getting a new memory card for our camera seems to have remedied our problem. We also bumped up the size and quality settings for good measure, so I'm looking forward to showing off nicer photos to our members. Thank you very much to Merrick for the advice and insight on that issue!
Last night we went out for a movie and people seemed NICER than I usually perceive them to be. Everyone (the girl at the ticket booth, the boys at the popcorn stand, the managerial-types manning the ticket-taking stand) seemed so friendly and happy and somewhat sedated, as though they'd just finished eating a really satisfying meal. When I went to the bathroom and got a load of myself in the mirror I decided it was all because I was showing off about six inches of cleavage; people like looking at big titties, that's all there is to it. Or maybe all of the people working there were high, I don't know, but I've decided to attribute it to my boobs.
Overall I looked like a dumpy middle-aged broad who has "let herself go" -- pasty-faced, semi-haggard, wearing too-long-in-the-crotch unstylish sweat pants paired with a baby blue fleece jacket that looks EXACTLY like something a geriatric woman would wear to a bingo parlour. But in the middle of it all was that shining beacon of hope: deep cleavage pointing down to my tight pink tank top.
I have a sneaking suspicion that if I were a younger woman who looked like the total hot package that people wouldn't have been so nice, but you just can't resent a chesty lady who looks all worn out. I guess it's cute, in a way. Still, I was a little embarrassed about how much boob I was showing off so I zipped up my elder-wear when I realized I could almost be considered indecent.
My theory is that there's just something about blondes and big tits that catch people's attention; if you want people to look at you warmly, you should experiment with one or the other. People love that shit, men and women alike. Of course, I'm not *endorsing* superficiality, but you can't deny that there are certain characteristics in people that catch other people's eyes (and some of them more than others). All I'm saying is that blondeness and bustiness are two of those certain characteristics that rank WAY UP THERE along with "great smile" and "nude-in-public".
Speaking of superficiality, one of the reasons I loved Blades of Glory were the COSTUMES. The little princess in me didn't even GET the joke of Jon Heder's outfits; I thought his off-ice ensembles were SO fetching and sparkly that they made me feel all twinkly inside. It was refreshing to acknowledge there's a nine-year old inside me who wants to grow up to look AND ACT just like Jimmy MacElroy.
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".
Wow -- we REALLY needed to take a day off today, so I haven't accomplished anything besides resting my weary old bones. We did just watch Talladega Nights, though. Does it surprise you to hear that I enjoyed it? I don't think the climactic kiss held a candle to the one in Baseketball, though.
We also watched the first episode of the new cycle of America's Next Top Model. I was *furious* that Kathleen was the first to go; I'm all for the plus-size models (well, model -- I'm rooting for Whitney but I think Diana should have been kicked off before Kathleen). What kind of message does it send to young girls telling them that models can be heavyweights but they can't be stupid? I was shocked, frankly.
We were also stunned by the loss of AJ from American Idol. We love Sanjaya and everything, but I truly believe there are some Indian hackers out there fucking with the votes. Aside: I don't normally go for skinny young men, but I find Sanjaya extremely attractive. Plus, you know, he's local! We're still rooting our hardest for Blake (though "rooting" doesn't actually involve voting since we don't normally watch the show until after the lines have closed).
My least favorite AI contestants are Jordin Sparks and Phil Stacey. I like french toast better than waffles. I fantasize about being the meat in a Blake Lewis and Chris Sligh sandwich. Most annoying Idol behavior: SMILING during sad songs -- you should not have a shit-eating grin on your face while singing "Careless Whisper".
SOME GIRLS LOOK GOOD SUCKING COCK . . . . . . other girls? Not so much.
While I edited a POV blowjob video (shot from Tucker's "point-of-view" looking down at me ) I was once again disappointed by how alien my face looks from that angle. Alien as in "different" because I don't ever look at myself from the scalp downwards, but also alien as in "of the giant forehead and great big eyes". Like the greys, you know what I mean? Since the camera is closer to my forehead than any other facial feature, of course that is what looks biggest. Next, eyes. And then my nose, which isn't tiny and doesn't really benefit from enlargement. On top of that, I have a heart shaped face so it just looks like I'm this giant upper-half of a face, with a miniature jaw. I frequently look bizarre, like a praying mantis. And when I'm really going down on the cock and have as much of it as I can in my mouth? I look like a sunken-cheeked crack whore.
But I'll stop complaining since, you know, it's still really hot. And I snagged a lot of stills from it that I actually love. And even my crooked teeth looked sexy to me, reminding me that the Japanese actually have some kind of a fetish for crooked teeth; I don't remember the term for it, but apparently they think it's really cute. Of course you can't really give too much credit to the Japanese aesthetic when they're the ones who freed and made a celebrity artiste out of Issei Sagawa, a guy who cannibalized a big strong creamy-skinned Dutch lady.
While it would be most entertaining for me to show you lots of samples of me looking like a pale bug-eyed martian, it's probably better for business if I show you some of my favorite cocksucking (well, licking, etc.) snags with only one image of my totally-distended face:
Anyway, not all people really prefer to see a "pretty" face sucking cock. Sure, there are lots who *do* hold the prettiest cocksuckers in high esteem, but there are others who think the stretched-out features of a sexy-ugly face deep in hungry concentration are the best. You might also be surprised at how many guys fetishize tongues and open, empty mouths; lots of guys will specifically request (in porn and camshows) that you pose for them with your mouth open wide and your tongue sticking out. They will jack off to you just rolling your tongue out and laying it as flat as you can for them to imagine shooting their loads. This can be a difficult pose to maintain for more than a minute, but it really does the trick for some people.
But back to the most important topics at hand: me and my vanity! When I see my wrinkled forehead in photos and videos it REALLY makes me want an injection of botox more than a gloppy load of cum on my tongue.
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.
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!!!!
I've got a thing for girls and bubblegum . . . and boobs. Anyone sharing my appreciation of these elements will probably enjoy the gallery and video we shot today. Above is my favorite photo, one I loved so much that I have two versions of it in the gallery: one portrait and one landscape because I love looking at the bumps and colors and angel-in-need-of-bubblegum-oxygen-mask. And the way that my mouth looks SO much like a pussy (do you see that broken hymen up there?) and the gum splatters sometimes look like *another* layer of pussy and/or remind you of cum splatters, but yummy watermelon-flavored cum and sticky pink messes. I like things that *remind* me of sex and genitals but aren't. And I love the silliness and tacky-bored attitude gum-chewing and bubble-blowing convey.
Sometimes when we shoot stuff it's because we have to shoot *something* and it is kind of a bore; other times I really love what we're doing and the finished product. This bubblegum stuff is something I *love* that's fun and provocative (to me).
The video is not nearly as "sweet" -- there is some crazy-ass natural-titty action in it with my boobs flopping and whirling and swinging and swaying . . . all while I chomp on gum and try to blow bubbles as I'm getting fucked by Tucker. Good stuff.
LATEST SEX DREAM Which one of these people from Curb Your Enthusiasm do you think I had a wet sex dream about last night?
I doubt it will come as a shock to those of you who know me, but it was that "fat fuck" Jeff.
While I tend to get hot over chubby guys, I don't think I've ever consciously acknowledged my lust for Jeff. But last night I had a few sex dreams (one of them also involved Nathan Fillion after a very long slide down a spaceship/spacestation slide, red black and metal, miles of sliding on a tube) and the most fulfilling and enchanting had to do with Jeff.
Panties. I had many pairs of my favorite panties in hand, ones that I'd already worn a bit so some already had that good pussy smell on them. I also had an assortment of whore friends and I wanted to throw a little panty party with strange middle-aged men I randomly picked up and invited over, knowing they would appreciate the sexual nature of my play without actually pushing for SEX. Jeff was one of the attendees. I kissed him and kissed him and kissed him while he smiled, but alas, we never got to the panty part due to my dream taking an anxiety-riddled turn into car accidents. But I woke up wanting JEFF.
Where does a lust for this guy come from? Is it the way he's always so clean and tidy and fetchingly-clothed in Curb? Is it his submissive nature in the show? He's never grotesquely submissive in an attention-whoring squirmy manipulative way, but he's just so laid back even when Suzy is screaming that he's a fat fuck. Maybe that's what makes me so hot for him. Or maybe it's that someone who's THAT heavy probably isn't going to have the energy to fuck YOU, instead he'll just lay back and let you fuck HIM with a smile on his face. No pain, no ruthless pounding, complete control. At least, maybe that's the way I envision it in my horny subconscious mind.
Mmmmm . . . perhaps that more youthful pic reveals more of the attraction. Plus there's something about his voice I like, maybe there are traces of his Chicago history in it, or maybe it's just the slightly-wheezy squeezed voice of a fat fuck. I don't know. It makes me hot. I have a couple of other fat fuck crushes I've been meaning to blog about, so maybe it will all fall into place when I do that.
Note: if my use of the term "fat fuck" is offensive to you, allow me to point out its part of the show, Curb Your Enthusiasm (and if you haven't watched it, you damn well should). I was never a big Seinfeld fan, but Larry David of Curb? FAN I AM.
Full Galleries & vids appearing in our Members-Only areas in current & future updates. JOIN NOW for access to ALL of our pics (full size) & vids!
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.
OPEN ME UP??? Well, another week, another members' update published. This time there's a new link to KSex Radio's live shows which were just added to the Camz network, and almost a half hour of video from the show Tucker and I did on Christmas day which most people didn't get to see.
My favorite part of the show is when someone in the chatroom commanded Tucker to "open her up", to which I responded, "open me up? What do I look like, a fucking can of spaghettios?"
Someday I'd love to do a video compilation of me reaming people out, but I'm not sure I could afford the bandwidth for such a gigantic movie. It would be great fun for a dvd, whenever I learn how to make one of those and have the proper hardware and software.
During the same show, I wore one of my favorite pairs of underwear: white cotton brief panties edged with red lace and a tiny red satin bow. Some guy in the chatroom named "Camron" kept remarking on them, suggesting, "you should invest in a thong" and "need to lose the granny panties". If I had time to properly school him, I'd have let him know the following:
#1) I only change my attire for people who pay me by the minute to field their personal requests.
#2) If I am wearing a certain pair of panties during a show, chances are it's because I like them and find them sexy myself which means that if he isn't paying me by the minute, I couldn't care less what his personal preference is, because mine is all that matters.
#3) INVEST in a thong? As though because during one hour of one day of one week of one month I am wearing one pair of underwear, it must mean I do not posess any others; very stupid assumption.
#4) Let's pretend I don't own a thong: if there is an article of clothing I do not own but someone wants me to wear, the appropriate thing to do is to ask for my mailing address so he can send me whatever it is.
#5) Anyone who doesn't appreciate the appeal of modest white cotton panties probably will not appreciate me, my site, my shows, or most of what I have to offer. White cotton panties rock my fucking world. I'm sure there are people I have much in common with who could care less about white cotton panties, but anyone who would ADVERTISE that while I'm wearing them, stupidly assuming I could only be wearing them out of a lack of options or ignorance regarding what is "sexy", is himself mentally incompetent and has really really really bad taste.
Speaking of shows, I have one tomorrow (Tuesday). 1 pm Pacific Time. After that I'll be webwhoring for a couple of hours, then Tucker has a show at 5 pm. If you come in, don't joke about my panties, because I won't get it and will just sigh with the exhaustion of a bored whore who has put up with entirely too much bullshit, and you'll be tempted to point out what a humourless bitch I am.
I'm not sure if that sounds bitter, so let me just say I really like the whore I've grown into and somehow my cranky, fatigued whore routine is more entertaining to lots of people then the boringly spritely, over-enthusiastic, and fakey whore routine other camgirls have going on.
HOME AGAIN We're back home after two nights at my mom's shooting pictures. I packed a bunch of different outfits and wound up only using two of them and borrowing something of Tucker's for a third set. Surprisingly, the ensembles I most looked forward to wearing didn't even come out of the suitcase, and the trashy little number I thought I WOULDN'T use wound up being my favorite:
Full Gallery appearing in my Members-Only area with Monday 11/22 update. JOIN NOW for access to ALL of my pics (full size) & vids!
Lace gloves? A hanky-like tube-top? And that ridiculous pairing of platform heels with little white lace-trimmed anklets . . . jesus christ. But I felt like such a cute hot slut wearing it. Like the hottest piece of ass in the trailer park. I actually had fun doing those pictures.
I'm so glad to be back home. My mom has three cats (which I'm allergic to) so I have a big benadryl hangover now with remnants of allergy attack; my mouth is dry and yucky, there's a wheezing tickle in my lungs, and it feels like a hard lozenge of bloody mucous is lodged in the back of my throat.
Suddenly my computer and internet connection speed have slowed to a painful trickle like they're constricted by a swollen prostate gland. Sigh.
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.
BEATING MY BUTTON The past couple of days I've been inordinately horny, maybe because I'm ovulating but more likely because of this:
I've had countless -- fucking COUNTLESS -- strangers ask me to entertain them in various chatrooms with descriptions of what turns me on. "What turns you on baby?" "What do you like sexually?" This is their version of sexual equity and feigning interest in my pleasure and needs. I try to empathize with them as they have never been on the receiving end of such a repetitive, ceaseless hammering of questions. Sometimes I tell them they can find some of that information by reading my journal, checking out my site, or paying for a private phone call or video show with me. Blah blah blah. Other times I tell them the truth and I do so with a vengeance: "I like guy-on-guy action, macho buddies jacking off with each other, guys who will fuck anything and everything from couch cushions to blowup dolls to pvc pipes to microwaved liver. I like easily-dominated big dumb mouth-breathing hulks of guys who stand around drooling with their mouths open. I like guys who can suck their own cocks or at least give it a desperate yearning neck-breaking attempt." Of course, I also like women with hispanic accents, but I don't tell them that part. Anyway, they usually shuttup after that, or try to prompt me towards a direction they find more palatable, "but don't you also like licking your girlfriends' bald pussies?" Snort. Not as much as I'd like to walk in on a guy doing a little up and over dousing his own face with spunk.
Wil Wheaton (of Stand By Me and Star Trek fame) says he never gets tired of answering the same old questions from fans "because even if it's the thousandth time I've been asked a question, it's the first time the person asking it has ever heard the answer." Well folks that's commendable, but I am no Wil Wheaton. I get bored. Quickly.
Dishing out canned answers to every Tom, Dick and Hairy Dick that comes into my chatroom makes me feel like a cafeteria whore slapping green jello with bananas onto an assembly line of anonymous brown lunchroom trays. Oh boy -- look at it jiggle!! But it's so cold and jello green is so not a sexy color. :(
Part of the allure of logging, photographing, and sharing so much stuff on my websites is this delusion I have that once I say something . . . I'll never have to say it again because it's already out there, somewhere, even though I can't remember saying it or where it is and certainly no one ELSE could remember it, but no matter . . . it's my delusion and I'm sticking to it. Another way this delusion operates: I have a few pictures where I look pretty damned good and deep down I feel like . . . okay, I've got the proof that I've looked sexy once or twice, I feel great about it, now where's my flannel robe, the potato chips and is there really a reason why I should brush my hair ever again? Let Tucker be the sexy one in our duo, I much prefer the role of the fat bastard pimp.
But I digress. What I really meant to say was that I've been horny as hell the past couple of days because of a self-sucking site I found. If you want to read more from me about it, check here.
Oh, and tomorrow is my show day, so check here for the times. I won't be doing a tubtime and chat beforehand this time around, but I do have a couple other chats scheduled this week that I hope will be fun for all concerned, so don't be afraid of dragonlady webwhore . . . just be prepared to contribute more to the conversation than predictabe questions.
SLEEPY GOOD I can't think straight right now -- can't decide what things to write about and what things to leave out, what things to do and what things to wait on. So I'll just give you a picture and let you know that the day the picture was taken (yesterday) was one of the horniest I've ever experienced.
Houseboy and I had a frustrating experience the night before with me trying to take pictures of him but initially failing due to my disappointment with myself in not even understanding my own stupid camera. I really wanted to take pictures of him in his spectacles but the fucking lights were reflecting off of them and without the lights shining on him everything was too dark. Anyway, enough of the frustrating part. He kept his good humour and pretty much made it impossible for me to just quit and go to bed . . . so we wound up with a pretty good set of pictures of him and . . . even sexier I got to videotape him jacking off. I cannot even describe how much of a dream come true this is, just getting to watch a guy jack off in real life and not be allowed to do anything about it. Since houseboy's site will be friendly for all audiences (male or female), there's no need to throw me in the mix every single time -- he needs some sexy solo content. Anyway, then yesterday houseboy took pics of me (see above) and I took pics of him . . . and another video. I almost wept from being so excited standing behind the camera while he jacked off. OH god yum. What a perfect tease!!
I absolutely love being the voyeur instead of the performer/participant/exhibitionist. And it's not just because I do it all the time for work . . . it's because the role of voyeur comes much more naturally to me than the role of exhibitionist. Most of my seemingly exhibitionistic behaviors are rooted more in my imaginings of what someone would be feeling by voyeuring me.
One of the most fascinating things happened when houseboy and I were looking through the pictures I took of him . . . looking at beautiful image after beautiful image of him on the monitor somehow he became somebody distant and celebrity-like. Staring at his still smiling/pouting/flirting sultry images I just absolutely marveled at his perfection . . . and I thought about how hysterically women will idolize beautiful sexy men (like Elvis and Tom Jones). I have always been fascinated by that panty-throwing/fainting/screaming phenomenon. I don't know if men are capable of that kind of senseless maddening worship the way women are. Part of it is arousal, sure, but it's much more all-being-encompassing than simple sexual arousal. It's like your mind, body and spirit are completely driven by intense brainwashed excitement. I seriously felt myself approaching that kind of hysteria with him yesterday . . . staring at the computer houseboy pictures for so long then finally turning around and looking at the real houseboy standing before me, SO gorgeous I tried to explain "it" (this wacky celebrity worship thing) to him . . . and just as I was reaching for the words he took a step towards me and was almost touching me and I truly felt my guts dropping and my entire face lighting up as though STAR STRUCK . . . ohmygodohmygod it's really him!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!(insert hair pulling face squishing jumping up and down wetting pants screaming)AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! He's going to touch me oh my god it's HIM!!!!!! I didn't know whether to jump into his arms or take a step back!! It was the wackiest feeling! Silly and totally ridiculous, but I felt it anyway.
Anyway, if you want to see just one of the tame pictures of my the "object" of my hysteria, I think that houseboy is publishing one in his journal momentarily.
Full Gallery appearing in my Members-Only area with Sunday 2/9/03 update JOIN NOW for full set of photos I took on the day Bunny & I made love!
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.
Full Gallery appearing in my Members-Only area with tonight's Sunday 1/12 update JOIN NOW for access to the entire gallery!
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.