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.
She describes herself as an "eco-feminist-pagan-hippie sex-worker chick currently residing in a Nudist Colony in the last redneck outpost of South Florida". Loosely translated, that means most of my blog readers will dig her for at least one reason, if not more. Plus, she's FUCKING GORGEOUS. Like, a totally striking knockout. She reminds me of Emmanuelle Seigner and a girl I went to high school with (I know that means nothing to you, but the reminder of my gorgeous German friend with her cheshire cat grin is lovely to me).
She's also a fellow Niteflirt/phone sex operator and I squealed when she set up an appointment to "consult" with me on different possibilities for setting up spycams. After I got off the phone with her I watched her free Masturbation Impossible video (wankers: you will not make it through the portions where she carefully wobbles down the stairs wearing her rollerblades and smiles mischievously - SUPER HOT).
Right now Libby Lynn's describing herself as an art student and porn cashier and it's just a MAJOR OVERSIGHT on my part, me not adding her to my blog links before this. I think I thought she was already in there. From her I get a depth and breadth of inspiration/relation(? if that's the right word)/variety that I don't get from most other blogs and online contacts.
I sort of don't know how to describe the connection I feel when I read her, but as far as you go in deciding whether or not to dig into her posts and flickr and twitter and stuff, I think she'll appeal to smart voyeuristic types who like meaty posts and porn and art or are working on the process of their own selves/work/art.
I also updated my link to Mia who is now blogging at MiavonDoom.com, my online buddy from way back and a multimedia POWERHOUSE.
We woke up early to watch the Inauguration yesterday; I turned the television on as fast as I could and pretty much started crying immediately. I'm a sucker in general for ritualized ceremonies, but a lot of things made it extremely emotional for me. There's all the obvious stuff of watching a momentous, proud, hopeful, inspiring piece of history, but other stuff, too. Like remembering watching Reagan's Inauguration with my grandpa when I was a little girl. Like seeing two little girls who love their dad and thinking of my own dad and my sister and I when we were their ages. Seeing the former presidents and vice presidents and first ladies from my lifetime walking (or hobbling) in or not being there at all (like my dad and my grandpa) was like looking at a timeline with my own lifespan clearly marked on it. It's not a long line, even if I'm lucky and only a third of the way through it. I didn't think of it this way on a conscious level until hours later and realize that part of what I cried about was my own mortality.
Then I had a doctor appointment. That made me feel even more like a rusting machine getting ready to be dismissed from operation. It wasn't a good experience and by the end of last night with money stress, the emotions of the morning, sleep deprivation and all of the symptoms I went to the doctor for in the first place, I was really ready for a good night's sleep and too wound up to jump right into it.
Check out my Inauguration Day tweets if you want some more of my reactions to yesterday. Apparently I'm the only person who loved the poem. Other people thought it was robotic -- not a word I'd have chosen to describe it, but even if it was I totally love robots so maybe that's why I liked it. At first I thought her delivery was too contrived, but a few lines into it I just heard the words/saw the moments she captured and thought it was fucking brilliant and spot-on. I burst into tears when she said the last nine words of this chunk:
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
I complained yesterday about not hearing anyone comment on the poem (and felt totally annoyed seeing people walking away from the ceremony before she even started; these must be the same assholes who go to watch fireworks displays but leave before the finale because they want to "beat the traffic" but maybe I'm being unkind and they all just have small bladders and/or diarrhea) but now I'm glad I didn't hear any chatter about it on CNN or online (I know it's out there, I just haven't looked for it or read it). I don't know anything about poetry, but I do know I love Walt Whitman and I do know he loved Lincoln and I do recognize nods to Whitman in yesterday's poem and that all of that fits into the deliciously morbid Lincoln-channeling going on with Obama being the first to use the Lincoln bible and doing all of those other following-in-Lincoln's-footsteps black-cat-crossing things.
We spent most of today shopping since we had to make the journey to suburbia for Delia's laser hair removal appointment. It was so much fun hearing people, especially kids, talking about Obama (kid pointing at books & magazines: "look, Mom! It's Barack Obama!"). I hate that I can't shake the feeling of impending doom, though. I know other people have to be feeling it, too. Still, everything's shimmery and sparkly right now . . . very storybook-like (even with the oath do-over). Watching the ceremony yesterday I did halfway feel like I was watching a pre-pre-pre-prequel to Star Trek Next Gen. Like everything good could really come true someday and all of the buildings and monuments were bad backdrop paintings of futuristic architecture.
I don't regularly fantasize about the White House as a super-glamorous place and never have felt like the people living there were royalty the way people felt about the Kennedy years. It's kind of exciting to experience that now; I can't help it, thinking about those girls moving in there and having slumber parties. I'm totally sucked into it. The allure of a lot of chick things (weddings) escapes me but stories involving orphans, boarding school, or preteen girls spending the night in museums or moving into the White House are always going to capture my imagination. It's almost as good as eating buckets of mashed potatoes and gravy, imagining Sasha and Malia safe and happy, the most famous little girls in the world ensconced in THE WHITE HOUSE with closets full of pink clothes and barbies and books and halls to run in and a prissy nanny who tells them stories and feeds them cucumber sandwiches.
I've got some Obama-themed pictures to post from my latest members-only gallery but haven't had a chance to make promos so it'll have to wait. In the meantime you can check out Delia's samples if you're not a member.
Another sad thought I had yesterday was for our friend whose mom just died. I imagined him and AmberLily dealing with their loss and this Inauguration going on at the same time. How weird it would be to feel like everyone in the world is paying attention to this ceremony while they're distanced from it by having a huge personal transition and ceremonies of their own to attend to. When big events coincide with personal crises it can be so isolating and bizarre. I haven't wanted to call them, but I'm definitely thinking of them and hoping for the best for them.
I started taking piano lessons when I was about nine years old. My teacher, Joan, didn't believe in using metronomes and always had long, fancy nails even though pianists aren't supposed to. At some point during the first year of lessons, she told me that music is really all about MATH.
No math = no music. A huge revelation for me as a kid. It's a big truth that's never left me. At first my feelings about it were a little conflicted; it was sort of stressful ("I'm so bad at fractions!"), but realizing that math is the foundation of music (or at least one doorway into building and understanding it) never sucked the romance or beauty out of it. It never made it dry to me. It can be invisible enough that you don't actually NEED to know it or think about it for it to be in there. That lesson primed me to notice as years went by that math and science are built into nature and art and our insides. That the basics of them are intuitive, like rhythm, but the more you know about the math and science of something, the better your music or art or appreciation of those things can be.
Knowing that art is really science has been a solace to me -- art isn't reserved only for a few people who are divinely inspired. It can be orderly: accessed and created systematically. With simple formulas. With a wide variety of tools mixed with individual perspective, personality and tastes to make it seem unique and magical, disguising the numbers in the craft of it.
I shot a set of pictures of Delia wearing some hot Hello Kitty shorts on Friday night and the photos are all jacked up. I'm a long way from understanding the science of photography; I *like* numbers, but they don't stick in my head very well so even though I've read about how cameras work and how OUR camera works I still don't have it committed to memory or know how to manipulate light and settings quickly to achieve what I want. I have to just walk around and fiddle with things until I mostly-accidentally happen onto something lovely. Most of the good pictures I take are the product of luck and shooting A LOT without fully comprehending what I'm doing. I recognize what looks good and beautiful and erotic to me (or at least halfway decent) and what looks bad to me and have a few basic practices for making the former (especially in the "halfway decent" category) and avoiding the latter, but my technical skills are pretty basic.
All of the pics looked dark to me so I bumped the ISO up to 1000 or 2500, I forget now (hence the graininess) and the speed down to 25 or 30 -- they still looked dark for some reason; I was letting the camera auto-focus (selecting the area to focus on myself with these little movable box thingies; I forget what Nikon calls that function but it didn't seem to be working well on this particular night) and adjust the aperture itself until I decided to do a closeup and switched everything to manual (because it balks when we ask it to autofocus macros); suddenly everything was WAY TOO BRIGHT and I had to change the shutter speed. The only thing I can think of is that the camera wasn't doing a good job of automatically adjusting the aperture and when I switched to manual and adjusted it myself then everything changed. It sucked because we wanted these pics to be bright.
The older I get, the more I see that MOST working artists -- writers, photographers, graphic designers, sculptors, painters, musicians, etc. -- are just people who've chosen to do that kind of work. That the only thing that sets them apart from the rest of us is the amount of time they put into their art and confidence they have in devoting themselves to it without worrying whether or not a jury of peers think they deserve to make money on it. Very few artists are people who actually possess something innate that the rest of us don't have; most of it is taking the time to learn and apply information that's available to everyone (or anyone with the resources to do a little research) and then investing money in the right tools and lots of time in practicing. Sometimes I think the most successful artists are the ones who are actually LESS gifted and too stupid/overconfident to recognize that there are other people (usually making zero dollars on their art) who are WAY more talented. Maybe the only way to be a successful "artist" is to NOT be great -- to not complicate shit with too much vision, originality, or diverse techniques and just work from simple formulas to make things that are easily recognizable and accessible to the masses. See also Adaptation. If your work brings other people pleasure does it really NEED to be super duper excellent?
The older I get, the happier I am with shooting for mediocrity. Even mediocrity requires a lot of hard work (for me, at least). Mediocrity is attainable without being a given; you can stand out and make a decent living in a field simply by being one of the relative few to 1) choose that field, 2) commit to it for a number of years, and 3) make yourself known. All the better if you're willing to take emotional and financial risks and make sacrifices for your work/"art". The happier you are with mediocrity the wider your success. I've slowly shifted my focus of "pride" away from "talent" and pinned it on "work"; you can't be proud of having good taste or being born with certain attributes making you better suited than most to doing one job or another. Those are only things you can be THANKFUL for. The things you can actually be PROUD of are hard work, dedication and defying convention to choose happiness. To call yourself an artist as soon as you choose to be one -- to make it your job -- rather than waiting until you imagine other people think you are good enough to deserve that label. Those are the people I admire more and more, the ones who are brave & devoted enough to create some form of art (even if it's just fair to middlin') and are savvy enough to make it a business.
I used to think having to work hard at something or take a lot of time to make something acceptable was something to be ashamed and embarrassed of. If it wasn't easy it meant I wasn't good at it. Now I realize that's total bullshit (even if I still FEEL that way sometimes). The strategic choices and commitments you make to invest work in things that make you happy, better, more skilled, or even just capable of seeing you should make a different choice (I've always believed that quitting is something to be proud of; that whole "quitters never win" line is such a crock of shit). The time you spend allowing yourself to suck ass -- IMMERSING yourself in sucking ass and slowly filling in the void of your ignorance with knowledge -- just so you can become mediocre at something you love and then keep working to try to improve upon that. Beyond mediocrity there are so few people who are actually able to recognize the difference between mediocrity and greatness, there's no reason to beat yourself up if you're not capable of becoming that elite.
Being a "jack of all trades, master of none" ROCKS. It's fun, it's challenging, and I don't love any one thing enough to give up all the other stuff. So I really have to be satisfied with mediocrity, slow progress, and making balanced choices to devoting little bits of time here and there to different things I love. Like making flash cards to learn photography stuff. You're never too old for flash cards. I'm not, anyway.
I am mediocre at so many things, and have managed to balance (with great mediocrity) such a gigantic shitload of different kinds of work that I deserve to be quite proud of myself and my extraordinary mediocrity. I feel so blessed to be in a position to dabble so widely. Lucky lucky lucky, and proud of myself for creating a notable percentage that luck by my choices. For recognizing my luck and exploiting it to the best of my limited ability.
Some of us are able to do our work just because we're lucky enough to have the resources to buy tools, to live in an environment filled with inspiration and/or to be close to people who make beautiful subjects and do most of the art/work for you.
I love arranging forkfuls of food. Ones where I have the perfect ratio of one thing to the other(s). Mashed potatoes to gravy to meat. Raisins to flakes. Heavens to Betsy. It doesn't have to be fancy, the formula just has to be right. Everything pleasingly arranged in relation to each other. I will never be a good cook because I don't want to practice how to be; that's Delia's thing. It's my job just to love eating, every day, tasting and swallowing over and over and saying thank you, honey.. And to figure out how to arrange camera settings like food on a fork, adjusting hole-sizes, timing mechanisms, and digitally tweaking things in perfect relation to the kind of light shining on my girlfriend.
The other night we heard Martin Short ask Conan O'Brien if it's okay to say "penis" on television. Conesy assured him that if it's a "medical" word you can say it on tv. So they said it, "PENIS", over and over. Martin also said, "ding dong", "my unit" and a whole bunch of other terms as he used his hands to indicate EXACTLY what part of his body he was talking about.
Guess what happens if you do a search for "clitoris"? BIG FAT ZERO.
I only learned of this reading Susie Bright's post about this twisted double standard. Of course, to be fair, "vagina" doesn't seem to be considered a dirty word since I just turned on strict filtering and did a search for that term and came up with (considerably fewer than penis) results so . . . yeah.
It IS upsetting and there's clearly a weird double standard; it's hilarious (in a very dark way) that anyone would think a clitoris is more dangerous than a penis, and "dangerous" IS the opposite of "safe", isn't it? Still, I don't know that I feel exactly the same way about it that Susie does, though I think hers is an important perspective full of many truths and that we should all be pissed off about this kind of bullshit. But part of the hate, shame, and willful ignorance of women and women's bodies is wrapped up in the shame and disgust men feel (and women AND MANY *FEMINISTS* REINFORCE AND ENCOURAGE) over straight men's sexual response to women. If it's a part of the body that makes a straight man's dick hard -- something they want to see and touch and lick and talk about and see pictures of -- then it needs to be censored to save those crazed pudwhackers from themselves and the women from the damage that is wrought when men think of women in a sexual way!
I'm not sure "the giant obscene 'F' word in Internet censorship is feminism". Yes, I think this is a feminist issue, for sure, but I don't think the sole or even the primary motive for/cause of banning a word like "clitoris" from google's safe search is a clear desire to silence feminists and shroud women and their bodies in a reinforced veil of ignorance. Sure, that's one of many RESULTS (and there are plenty of places where plenty of people DO make silencing feminists and campaigning against women and knowledge of women's bodies number one on their agenda) and it's easy to see why Susie would feel especially pissed about it when she's not one of the sex-negative feminists who thinks that every boner sprung is a rape waiting to happen (a way of thinking that, combined with the conservative, supposedly apolitical woman's belief that every time a man masturbates to pictures of women who aren't his wife that a family is destroyed, has made the men who are still in charge very eager to PRETEND to try to disapprove along with us of their dirty habit of jacking off over images of our bodies) . . . and when you turn safe search off to find "clitoris", the seventh page-one result is her post on the internal clitoris, etc. Obviously safe search filters could make it harder for Susie to sell books.
A little diversion: laughably, the retarded UNfactual "ask men dating and love tip" page on "understanding the clitoris" ranks higher than Susie's or Scarleteen's pages, but that's probably because a site like AskMen works a lot harder on search engine optimization than educators, artists, writers, political activists, etc.). The web used to be more of a woman, but now it's poorly micromanaged by algorithms cooked up by men. Are their little mathematical formulas conscious attempts to censor feminist obscenities (like truth)? No. I don't think so.
There are so many more pointed ways that women and the truths about our bodies told from our own perspectives are smacked down by corporate censors that the banned google clitoris isn't at the top of my list of things to use as an example. It's the more obvious and uncomplicated stuff I've had to deal with as a pornographer (one of those "commercial porn-makers" Susie identifies as someone who she thinks doesn't suffer from bans and censorship the way artists, writers, educators and political activists do, which is an annoying and probably unintentional slap in the face I've felt delivered from the latter group and their "poor, starving, I-do-it-for-love-not-money mentality" before -- I guess they always think we'll know that they don't mean pornographers like Tony Comstock who of course get to be included as ARTISTES) that really chap my hide as clear-cut cases of misogyny combined with the anti-sex backlash perpetrated by the feminists who deign to speak for all of us. Again, it's not that Susie is one of those people, it's just that I see feminism as one of many complex contributors to internet censorship, not just a victim of it.
So what IS a clear cut case of anti-woman, ignorance-enforcing internet censorship? When credit card companies and their processors tell me my body (and yours, if you're a woman) is OBSCENE when I'm menstruating and I'm not allowed to talk about it or show pictures of it or have sex with myself or other people while I'm having my period on any domain where I make money selling my porn. When they spider our sites looking for banned words, take them out of context and threaten to take away our ability to be paid for our work even when it IS political, educational, artistic, etc. Guess what? Google is not the entity afraid of my bloody pussy. Google is not the entity hiding or demanding I delete blog entries discussing political, legal and ethical issues containing banned words. I just have to cross my fingers when I make posts like this one that they won't come fuck with me, but technically I am defying their terms of service right now by posting this and could have my business shut down because of it. And it's not just "the man" who's against me, it's the (other) feminists, too.
Censorship isn't something you can blame all on men and their holy penises and their desire to stamp out feminism. And I'm starting to rethink that great old joke she mentioned; "if men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament." It's totally true, but I'll bet if that were the case today, feminists would quickly become the new pro-lifers. The gender wars are far from one-sided and I've been hit by a whole fucking lot of "friendly fire" over here on "our" side.
I know I'm being oversensitive and carelessly lobbing my own grenades in the wrong direction at people who are my allies, but oversimplifying everything as "anti-feminist" undermines all of our arguments and neglects to acknowledge the ways that some of feminism's "successes" have led to these failures along the way. There's a bit Bill Maher does that annoys the FUCK out of me to listen to (off-topic sidenote: I didn't like much about "Religulous", fyi), but I can't help thinking of it right now because some of it's true and applicable:
My guess is that banning "clitoris" has very little (if anything) to do with a campaign to censor feminist thought and information and women's bodies, and a whole lot more to do with thoughtlessness along with this thing Bill Maher talks about, with men trained to bow to "feminized"/feminINE values that anything that makes them erect is BAD. When you layer that onto the big problems that we SHOULD be focusing on like a) the people that make decisions in big companies being men, and b) men assuming everyone who uses their tools (like search engines) ARE men, and c) all men are straight, you wind up with guys jumping to the conclusion that any search for a clitoris is one that's going to make someone bust a nut and is therefore unsafe. Or maybe a whole lot of confused and retarded thought WAS put into it (with a, b and c still factored in) and they decided that since, as feminists will proudly point out to you, they've heard that clitoris is the only organ with the sole function of PLEASURE, and MEN HAVE BEEN TAUGHT THAT THEIR PLEASURE IS BAD if they experience it themselves, especially by objectifying women in pictures or on the internet, that it should be banned. Or maybe it's totally ridiculous to imagine ANY THOUGHT WHATSOEVER went into this arbitrary "decision". I highly doubt that a bunch of people came together in a room with a picture of a cock on one side of the chalkboard and a vulva on the other, and came to a consensus that CLITORIS is a dirty word but PENIS isn't, and high-fived each other on the way out the door saying, "right on, man! Another way to stick it to feminism!!"
Ultimately I think it's paranoid to say, "it's been clear for a long time that the giant obscene "F" word in Internet censorship is feminism." And untrue. And I say that as someone who believes it IS true that feminism (and accurate information about women) is censored, misrepresented, considered obscene and something to quash and oppose on a very large, grand scale. I just don't think that's the case here with google and the clitoris, and if you want to point at double standards, the more glaring one is ignoring how much power and influence feminists and women in general have had and continue to wield in censoring the internet, art, and women who capitalize (the first offense) on men's desires by selling them access to their bodies (second offense). It's wrong to imply that feminist writers, artists, etc. have suffered more from internet censorship than pornographers.
Sure, feminist writers, artists, etc. make less money than smut peddlers as a whole, but that disparity has nothing to do with censorship - porn makes money in SPITE of censorship that FAVORS women writers and artists (who don't create graphic material that is VISUAL), and is DEMANDED by the tag team duo of feminists and conservative women. You want to know why most women don't make money on the internet? BECAUSE THEY DON'T WANT TO. Because they don't even try. Because they are content sitting around bitching and blogging and crying on each other's shoulders feeling superior because they aren't whores motivated by money, no they care about PRINCIPLES and getting warm fuzzies commiserating with each other and expect the "community" to take care of them rather than creating something marketable and making enough money to buy influence and support their causes themselves. Because they rely on the man to pay them just enough that they can bitch about it being unfair and that they only do it because they HAVE to, rather than BECOMING the man long enough and with enough success that they can subvert the system. Women don't make money because they love just scraping by and they think that makes them superior to men, because they don't think big except in terms of imagining some big plot designed to keep them barefoot and pregnant.
Whatever. Enough of this baloney -- I need to stop being a hypocrite and make me some fucking money.
Delia and I are trying not to eat out so often; we've actually done pretty well with that this year. It's not that I mind spending the money on it because we don't go totally crazy with it, it supports local business people and I need to get out of the house SOME time, but we aren't even enjoying it that much anymore and do it more for comfort than anything else.
Anyway, we're now motivating ourselves not to eat out by listing frivolous things we want that are in the eat-out price range and focusing on those when we feel tempted. $20-$25 is our average lately since we usually split something, so at the end of every week we manage not to eat out we're rewarding ourselves with $25 each. Is that dorky? Whatever.
Since we didn't eat out for a week, I used my money plus some other in my phone sex money stash to buy her:
I feel good about my purchase, partly because it's something beautiful (way prettier than leftover mexican food) and partly because I bought it from some awesome bus-dwelling people. It's always interesting to me when I compare what other people charge for their arts/crafts/work to what *I* charge for access to my porn, stories, shows and spycams. In many ways they're incomparable, but at first glance I have to gasp at how relatively inexpensive it was to buy something as gorgeous as this doll, something that must have taken hours to make -- something I myself can't fathom having the time, talent, skill or patience to to make. It's amazing to think about all of the life that goes into something like that from the sheep to the person collecting the wool to all of the steps in making the doll: shaping, dying and whatever else I'm clueless about.
It makes me wonder why I don't buy MORE beautiful, handmade things. I love them, but it always strikes me as a luxury/something I'll do LATER, when I don't have debt; that way of thinking is pure fucking nonsense, though. And it really seems RIGHT for me to cycle the money people spend on me as luxury/entertainment/personal support by doling some of it out to other small-business people and artists, right? On top of that I think I feel more inspired to do better work when I spend time looking at and touching other people's beautiful work. I spend most of my money on plastics and electronics and such, justifying it as being "for work", but forgetting that I need personal/spiritual juice for my work to be worth doing.
On Saturday I'm doing my civic duty at our county convention as an Obama delegate; I've canceled my shows that day rather than rescheduling them; there was no way I could get my other work (shoots, webmastering, etc.) done this week if I crammed show day into another slot. What I *have* done, though, is put a chat session at 9 pm Saturday night. I know that's probably going to make it unattendable for some people, but I'm not sure when I'll be home from the thing and want to have dinner and a break in between (my social juices being in always short supply).
I couldn't resist. I bought yet another new domain for a site I don't currently have time to develop properly. Well, actually, I bought TWO new domains. Believe me, limiting it to two took a great amount of self-control, especially when I saw that my business Visa's credit line was recently upped by $1k.
"LOMO"s are Russian cameras with a cultish following of hobbyists and collectors. A long time ago I read a great article in Details about them and was intrigued by their utility in low-light conditions and the oogy otherworldly images they produce. Now that you can buy all different kinds of new (now Austrian-produced) LOMO cameras it's a very accessible and inexpensive hobby with a built-in fan base, and you know how much I want to indulge my night photographycravings so this could be a practical and inexpensive way to justify doing that for both business and pleasure.
I'd also like to add a site to our little network that's not totally dependent upon our own images and personalities; LOMOporn totally fits that bill while also blurring the lines between porn and art. On top of that, I'd love to shoot stuff with film using a real MACHINE without all this digital stuff. Lomography is a really inexpensive way to go about that.
Anyway, if any of this sounds exciting to you and you want to contribute, you could gift me a LOMO or shoot your own LOMO porn and submit it to the site. I haven't figured out how much I will pay for submissions, but it probably won't be a whole lot and of course you will need to sign a release so I can use them; I don't think I'll ask for exclusivity though, which means the photos will still be YOURS to use wherever you want in addition to appearing on the site; if they involve penetration shots you'd also have to provide proof that the person or people in the picture(s) are 18 or over and each of them would have to sign a release, too; I might actually pay by the photo rather than sets (with a minimum payment to at least cover the cost of film & development), and of course people whose photos are accepted would be comped memberships to all of our sites.
If you are juiced up about this idea and want to donate a camera, I'd love it to pieces if you sent it here:
Trixie Fontaine 1240 W. Sims Way #7 P0rt T0wnsend, WA 98368
If you don't want to bother shopping around I'm adding a few to my wishlist for ease of purchase/mailing.
Oh, and the other domain I bought today? BORGPORN.COM which is a MUCH less practical site to develop. But someday? MMmmmmmm . . .
Sometimes I wonder how much time other amateurs spend putting together galleries for their updates. I suspect that I waste more time than most doing very silly things that other people automate. For example, I relish picking out a font for my domain name that will fit the mood of the photos. Then I waste a bunch of time placing my domain name image onto an appropriate spot on the photo that won't cover anything up. I enjoy seeing the way the colors and the shadows and everything compliment each other. It's ridiculous how much time I spend on these little tasks. But I like it.
Another thing I wonder about is the interplay between vanity, porn standards, market demand, individual fetishes, reality, legacy-building and "art". I find myself sorting through hundreds of pictures of myself trying to pick through them and create an enjoyable gallery for members. It's HARD though. All of these conflicting demands vie for my attention. First of all, I myself have a short attention span so I don't really like looking at galleries of more than 25-30 pictures. I find it very repetitive and boring and wind up really not relishing a few really sexy images -- it's almost as though as soon as I see allllllllllllllll those pictures I find myself aware of the clock and that I need to hurry up and scroll through them. Perhaps this is just a function of my femininity though? Maybe guys don't think that way. Plus most people in the internet porn industry slap together huge galleries of 75 or more pictures. But then again, lots of those galleries are built around girls who are flawless looking. Frankly I wind up with a very mixed bag of content. I have a few really flattering images (a VERY few), a lot of pictures that cater to individual fetishes (hairy, freckles, natural tits, etc.) that a lot of people withOUT those fetishes don't really find appealing, and a lot of images that are artistically interesting but antierotic.
When I look at pictures like the one above I'm just not sure what to do with it. It certainly doesn't depict me at my aesthetic BEST (see the chin fat, the exhausted expression, etc.) but it's an appealing image. I think it would be more appealing to me if I were looking at a stranger though instead of myself. And then there's the problem of it being on a "porn" site. Well . . . I don't really think most of the stuff in my members area is "porn". Although I love the porn title and feel it's important to commit myself to challenging the stereotypes associated with the word (and the only way to do that is to call what I do "porn") . . . really a lot of what I love making most is stuff that you would find shoved into a library book and accidentally left there. Seriously, that's what I imagine most of the words and images on my site are really meant for . . . to be discovered with no explanation and no context. Just intimate photographs and jotted notes for someone to discover and wonder about, unable to decide if the women they're looking at are ugly or beautiful, average or exotic, rare or commonplace, passive or aggressive. Unable to do more than imagine what the circumstances were surrounding the taking of the pictures or their lives in general.
I'd love to make a site (or *something*) like that and have fantasized about it before . . . something the captures the trespass of finding something that wasn't meant for you but that you long to keep and wish you understood better. The kind of thing you want to stick under your mattress or save in a shoebox. The only hard part about doing a site like that is that with guest content I wouldn't be able to give credit back to the models without destroying the mystery of the whole thing. MMmm. . . or maybe not. Maybe there could be little "unveil the mystery" links. And of course I could always pursue photography more and then I wouldn't be under any obligation to give the models any credit at all. Sigh. One of a million unpursued ideas I have . . .
Speaking of doing more photography, I put an ad in the local paper for naughty people to pose for me. And I have fantasized about approaching young girls like an old rotten-toothed pervert. My sister and I were in McDonalds a few weeks ago and the girl behind the counter was fucking angelic. She was plump and had the sweetest face. So far I haven't seen any barely-legal chubby girl sites (although I'm sure they're out there) -- the teen sites always seem to focus on the skinny underdeveloped set. But seriously, the baby fat look is just as provocative and sexy, I think. Anyway, I wondered if there was a way I could give this girl my card without totally scaring the shit out of her and having the law on my ass.
Anyway, back to my competing demands when putting together content for my site; somehow I feel like honoring those competing demands in a very inconsistent way that is my "special purpose" or comprises the personal "legacy" I am supposed to be building with my life. Although I feel conflicted about it sometimes and hypercritical of it, I LIKE that what I do is a mixed bag of all kinds of stuff: the thoughtful and the careless, the priceless and the cheap, the mainstream and the marginalized, the captivating and the repulsive, the dirty and the sweet, the pretty and the unpleasant, the hard and the soft, the forced and the natural, blah blah blah.
I don't think that most people understand that when a girl has pictures made of herself . . . it's not porn, it's immortality. It's the fountain of youth. It's enduring proof that she's a sex object in hard copy just like a girl in a magazine or Jesus's words in a red letter edition of the bible.
DOWNSTAIRS It's really odd . . . houseboy is downstairs learning Premiere (Adobe video editing software) on the laptop while I'm upstairs working on galleries. We've exchanged a few emails this way (yes, we're in the same fucking house and we're emailing each other) and I find myself really enjoying it. I like being close but a little removed. Communicating without speaking.
Hahahaha! He just sent me an email telling me to quit slouching (he is checking on me on the spycams). Hehehe.