Thursday, January 08, 2009
Wind & Sun in Winter (PICS)
We lost power at our house for a couple of seconds today because of the wind; it almost seems freakier when the sun's out and it's blowing than if the skies were dark and ominous. Blue skies + windstorms = the pink goth of weather.
Though we live northwest of/near Seattle, the weather is totally different here with a lot less rain. We're lucky to have big windows facing south so in January and February we can sunbathe naked. Inside, unless you have fur:
I took these pictures in our backyard after going to the store where the power was out. According to the locals I heard talking, part of town was out of electricity because a transformer blew, a tree fell/knocked down lines, AND someone crashed a car into a pole. Our wind is a force to be reckoned with!
Next month we're planning to spend some time shooting closer to my hometown, in the area where (some of) Twin Peaks
was filmed. I really wanted to commission someone to sew a waitress costume to mimic the ones they wore at the diner in the series, but I messed up the specs on the auction I created and didn't want to pay for something four months in advance of a time that would be too late for the look/time of year I wanted. Maybe next year. For now we'll try to capture a little of the vibe/local color without being crazily ambitious. Someday I would love to have the resources to get a bunch of our friends and fellow-Peaks-fans together for a couple of weeks to shoot some tribute porn. Someday.
Labels: dog, dreams, goals, husky, mundane, nature, Pacific Northwest, pets, photography, PHOTOS, seasons, Seattle, television, weather
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Part of a dream from last night's collection:
I'm taking care of the abandoned toddler but also realize no grownups are present so in the shed sitting on the ice I start "using" (if you know what I mean) my vibrating guitar-hero-style guitar. I'm looking out the windows and realize my stupid aunt is walking across the ice and looking in at me: I'm caught! She sees exactly what I'm doing and suddenly people are popping up all over outside while she draws attention to me standing stunned in the window with the guitar vibrating against my crotch. I'm still wearing pants for decency's sake, but still -- I'm mortified.
Labels: dreams, masturbation
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
More Blonde Blogging
MORE BLONDE BLOGGING
Last night I dreamed I was walking down the street and EVERY head turned to look at my lovely newly blonde hair. It was like a commercial in which I was the girl chewing the new gum or wearing the new perfume that makes everyone love and want to kiss her. The only unusual part was that all of the heads turning and faces looking appreciatively horny in my direction were WOMEN'S. Hot chicks, all giving me the "let's fuck"-eye because I'm so eye-catching as a blonde. In my dream I thought to myself, "wow - this proves my post that blondes are more attractive than brunettes; all of the women want me! I have to remember to post these results in my blog".
Yes, that's how much of a vain chick magnet I am in my dreams AND evidence of how trained I am to mentally note anything that could be blog fodder.
The dream went on to involve shopping in an expensive boutique with gorgeous silk dresses, sassy coats and even shoulder(?)-length leather gloves, all in magnificent arrays of colors. The beautiful proprietress with an updo exposing her yummy neck tried on a pair for me and I admired her exquisitely long, slender, leather-clad arms. I wanted to escape with her, but the store was very busy with tall, haughty women looking down their noses at me indicating I didn't belong there (apparently my hair was much less impressive here than on the street). The store also sold really artfully-printed business cards with white type on black card stock; let this be further proof of what a dork I am, that while I am a normal women who dreams normal woman-dreams about clothes-shopping, I have to also have office supplies for a wishlist dream to be really top-notch.
In real life, my mom and sister were greatly relieved to see me yesterday with blonde hair once again. They hated my hair dark.
Now that I've typed all of this I'm kind of grossed-out by the implications of the first part of the dream, but oh well. I'm human. We all want to be loved and wanted.
Labels: dreams, family, fetishes, gloves
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Raspberry Lip Gloss
RASPBERRY LIP GLOSS
Just awoke from a dream in which I was a man with a very large rod masturbating in my very posh living room, trying to hide it from my wife behind a magazine. Orgasm number one shot a gluey fountain above the magazine. Orgasm number two? Turns out my wife is Beyonce; I fucked her asshole. It looked like she applied raspberry lip gloss to it.Herein lies the benefit of getting just a little too much sleep.
Labels: dreams, fantasies, orgasm
Friday, August 10, 2007
I went to a new exercise class yesterday and now I'm sore in my sides from my hips to the base of my skull. SORE, I tell you, I'm sore!
And it feels SO good!
In the middle of the night last night I woke up to feel Delia stroking my body up and down, running her fingers over and around my tits and nipples which were feeling exquisitely sensitive. Needless to say, we fucked.
Unfortunately I had a difficult time falling back to sleep after that, and what with feeling so sore and all had to make up for it with some napping which I took a wee bit too far and wound up having nightmares which is not so much fun.
Labels: dreams, health, SEX
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
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.
Labels: accomplishments, customer relations, dreams, mundane, spycams, TURN ONS, webwhore insights, work
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Ingredients for a Perfect Night
INGREDIENTS FOR A PERFECT NIGHT
*One full moon, visible and shining high-beam onto your bed.
*An attempt at reading a favorite book, The Mists of Avalon, again. You fail to dive in deeply but only because you feel deliciously sleepy.
*A realization that even though you're deliciously sleepy, you're not SO deliciously sleepy you can't feel the lure of the eroscillator (a clit-stimulating sex toy). In the full moonlight, you masturbate yourself to two super-fantastic orgasms.
*After being asleep for fifteen minutes, your transgendered girlfriend calls you up from a local bar to get her ride home so you put on pj pants, pick her up, and go to the store and buy some junk food. The store employees say bizarre things to one another over the intercom. Everything inside and outside the store and on the drive there and back home is surreal and wide open.
*When you get home and into bed with your junk food, your girlfriend wants to fuck. You're sleepy and only into junk food at the moment, but say that she's welcome to fuck you as long as you can just lay there and not do anything. She agrees to your proposal, you grab some lube, and not six strokes into the endeavor you realize it feels way too good to just lay there and not do anything. So you do things. A lot of things. You are on top, your girlfriend has a huge orgasm and the excitement of watching and hearing her orgasm plus the feeling of her cum sloshing around in your pussy makes YOU climax too. You remark that apparently you were in the mood after all, and a good thing too because those early orgasms with the eroscillator? They didn't do jack for your g-spot, but this fuck session totally hit the spot and rounded out the evening. To be topped only by the following:
*Your girlfriend falls asleep as you press play on a recorded episode of your favorite television show, COPS. You have the fritos, bean dip, little schoolboys (cookies!), and diet Coke all to yourself. And COPS. Plus a full moon and spooge-filled cooch. You are positively gleeful.
The ingredients for a perfect night don't necessarily carry over well into the morning. Since I didn't go to sleep until four, I didn't get enough sleep since I had to wake up early for a show. We also had some (fun) shopping to do first for some plants for a photo shoot and the yard. By the time my show was over and we started eating lunch, I had the warning signs of a migraine with major visual disturbances, so I blocked out as much light from the room and swilled down a couple of pills and more caffeine to try to ward it off. I took a nap for two hours but the left side of my head is not too happy.
I'm not sure what to blame for it (the beginning of the moon's waning phase?), but the processed salty foods, sugar and diet coke seem likely culprits. We've never been big on drinking pop, but lately have been heeding the siren song of diet Coke and now I understand why that shit is so addictive. It's truly bubbly evil in a can.
Fortunately I don't feel the urge to vomit, so things are not too bad.
While napping, I dreamt I was student teaching and also holding another straight job, but was getting all of my porn email at the school/work. I was scared because everyone was on the verge of finding out my dirty secret. My co-workers and students seemed uncomfortable around me and the principal eyed me as though a big talk was coming.
Later I was living in a cold city. My wardrobe was not appropriate for the weather, and the icy puddles were treacherous to try to cross wearing my tractionless ballet slippers. Still, I had fun sliding around on the ice in the park. I wondered to myself why I'd never been to Cleveland, and then I realized that this cold city I was in was Cincinnati, and it would be very simple for me to visit Cleveland from there. The trees were bare and the sky a thick, unmitigated grey.
Labels: books, dreams, food, SEX, television
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Last night we watched part of this Frontline special
on women from the Ukraine and other poor countries who are sold into sexual slavery, raped, beaten, and held prisoners without payment for turning tricks. Of course the stories were horrifying (though not quite as bad as the one I heard on NPR once of an Albanian woman who'd been so severely beaten so many times by her pimp that she no longer had arms or legs: thrown out of a moving car a few too many times).
Not a good bedtime story, anyway. Not good.
I wound up having horrible nightmares. I was being held captive by the guy I lost my virginity to. He was crazy and going to torture and kill me. The look in his eyes was totally insane and no matter where I went, he was there. Everything was locked up but eventually I somehow made it out onto the roof but realized that even if I flew away he would follow me.
I woke up panting and sweating. I *hate* that shit.
Labels: dreams, sex work, true crime
Friday, January 26, 2007
The other night I dreamt I was Dick Cheney's mistress. I morphed between being myself and being my friend Mia
. Dick was morphing between himself and a variety of covert operatives (who looked nothing like the real Dick Cheney) wearing a suit that was too large for him. Our roles morphed between me chasing him while he was on the lam, and him chasing me while I was on the lam. Escalators were involved. It was hard -- TOO hard -- for us to "connect" and he was often chaperoned by lawmen, either because he was a crook and about to escape or because he needed extra force to take me down for my own crimes.
You'll be surprised to find that I WAS DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH DICK in my dream. At the beginning (when he was paying me for sex) I didn't like him so much but then our "relationship" developed, and in the middle of all that chasing up and down escalators and trying to find a moment alone I realized I just wanted . . . to hold him in my arms
I'm SO embarrassed and sickened by the strength of a dream to develop a crazy soft spot for sugar-bear Cheney. Ugh!
You'll notice that I was finally able to switch to the new Blogger and am now adding post labels! Yay! It's going to take awhile to finish that project and finally add the category links to the sidebar, but I'm *excited*! The pervs will be able to just go directly to the PHOTOS and SEX entries -- life will be a dream.
Labels: dreams, friends, goals, technical, work
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Just a quick post to say that we're going to be gone until Thursday night doing some shooting away from home (yay!!).
Of course, we're off to a late start; the plumber is here again trying to squeeze too-big a tank in too-tight a space . . . lordy. I really hope he gets it done for good soon so a) we can lock up and leave, and b) we can ummm. . . HAVE HOT WATER AGAIN and take showers and things like that.
Delia posted her update early (yummy) and mine is uploading right now, so I hope that and our friends on the spycams will keep you all entertained in our absence, and we'll bring home lots of new goodies in terms of photos and videos.
Oh, I should also mention that I'm SO WET AND HORNY!!
I know, my fellow webwhores and fans who "get it" will think I'm joking and just trying to placate those who want to read about WET PUSSY ALL THE TIME, but I'm actually serious. I had to make up a little sleep this morning but evidently it was TOO MUCH because I was paralyzed in lucid sex dreams resulting in scores of orgasms and an urgent need to masturbate when I rose.
Anyway, I think it's a good jumping off point for some hardcore shooting over the next couple of days, don't you?
Labels: arousal, dreams, mundane, work
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Latest Sex Dream
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.
Labels: beauty standards, dreams, PHOTOS, television, TURN ONS
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Good Times, Bad Times . . .
GOOD TIMES, BAD TIMES . . . Good times: Tucker
and I fucked last night and I was feeling incredibly horny . . .Bad times:
. . . right up until I bashed my head into the corner of his nightstand. Glad I already had one orgasm at that point because it sort of ruined the mood.Good Times:
But OH what an amazing orgasm it was! And *loud* too!Bad Times:
Too fucking bad something was wrong with the audio on our bedroom cam so none of our viewers could hear it. Grrrr . . . think I fixed the problem today though: thanks to Birdman for alerting me.Good times:
this morning I dreamt Tucker and I were in a large outdoor above-ground hot tub, almost like a swimming pool, with jets, but not really "hot". It felt great, swimming around, and I felt incredibly horny (again). I started rubbing myself and then a woman I used to work with who liked Blue Rodeo
more than I do suddenly appeared and I reached between her legs and started rubbing her clit as we huddled against each other. Every stroke I made on her I could feel myself until I came and woke up.Bad times:
our DVR has been fucking up. Tuesday night both of our receivers freaked out and stopped transmitting sound until I reset them in the morning, and then last night IT DID NOT PROPERLY RECORD "SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE". Jesus Christ Almighty, I am upset. It only recorded 13 minutes of the program, and won't even let us play THAT, it just keeps making a "bonk" sound when I try to press play or stop or fast forward. Heartbreaking stuff.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Last night I dreamt of a beautiful giant black octopus. He was so big he lived on top of a building being renovated by an oil rig company and was employed by them as a sort of mascot. He frightened the neighbors until they realized what a sensitive, intelligent creature he was. He became quite depressed when no one would interact with him. He was gigantic velvet-y black with perfectly contrasting pink undersides -- incredibly beautiful, and watching him move was mesmerizing.
I suppose I had this dream because of watching Pirates yesterday, but I have always loved the octopus (and the owl and the bat and the snake).
There's a perfect gentle rain falling outside my open window, the kind that provides a layer of noise to new agey music.
Labels: dreams, movies, Pacific Northwest
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Slippy . . . no, SLAPPY . . . no, SLEEPY!
I'm ready for bed - my morning started out with a tragic nightmare regarding my sister's health and pregnancy; I woke up on the verge of tears which really cast a nasty pall over the first part of my day.
Things did improve; I got some work done and we managed to get to one of the few local showings of Kinky Boots
. It was a totally old-fashioned story and I loved almost everything about it . . . everything except that Lola didn't get the girl (when the two of them danced it was ELECTRIC), instead taking the usual friendly-freak role by being the facilitator of romance rather than its recipient. It was nice to see a guy in good drag on the big screen with a mostly unmitigated masculine voice. I'm also a huge sucker for "saving dad's factory through resourcefulness and the inspiring intervention of an unlikely hero" stories (Mousehunt
comes to mind). I blame Mr. Rogers' Picture-Picture (and the opening sequence of Laverne and Shirley) for my abiding love of scenes shot in factories -- I *love* anything with yellowed conveyor belts and special machines tooled to do special things. LOVE it. I could watch that shit for hours. I wonder if there's a DVD collection of Picture-Picture does Factories . . . if there's not, there should be.
Honestly though, I love stories about entrepreneurs, small businesses, or people leaving the safety of society to take up an adventurous career. People on the brink of losing everything, barely making it, struggling to stay alive but still refusing to do something more conventional. It's probably what drew me to stories of streetwalkers and other whores as a teenager and I just didn't CARE that they were cautionary tales, what I cared about is that they seemed to be independent and on any day they could make $10 or $1000 while having to dodge all sorts of obstacles and dangers. I like anything where people are making a living by their own rules and their own schedule, or are flouting conventional wisdom. Another whore-like story that appeals to me is the type found in The Tattooed Man
-- I love the whole, "I'm going to make money and have adventure on the high seas!" thing. It's just good old American-dream boot-strap stuff with a little more of an unsafe fringe element that appeals to me. It's what I like about hard-boiled detective stories - they so often are barely eeking out a living, but THEY LIVE BY THEIR OWN RULES dammit. They are always just teetering on the brink. I love the tension and the uncertainty of that kind of lifestyle, so much so that I've established a similar existence for myself.
There is a thrill of uncertainty and danger as a webwhore that feeds on itself in an addictive way. It really is a gamble from both a financial and legal perspective, and the payoffs come in unpredictable ways. On the one hand, you have nearly-unlimited potential, but on a day-to-day basis a lot of times (at the stage I'm at now and have been for years) it really seems like the luck of the draw when it comes to how much money you pocket. It's quite possible that I like teetering on the edge so much and living the fantasy life of the scrappy entrepreneur just barely making a living that I probably hold myself back because it's just feels more fun and romantic this way than it would to have financial security. I love not knowing what will happen next, but feeling that a breakthrough could be just around the corner . . .
Labels: dreams, gender issues, money, movies, sex work, storytelling, television, webwhore insights
Saturday, May 06, 2006
I think I burned through a ton of personal energy yesterday because today I feel like I could sleep for twenty-four hours. This morning I had some crazy hot sex dreams, but couldn't really sleep soundly for worrying about finances and repeatedly waking up to immediately begin thinking of ways to ease the current situation.
I know I should probably make it sound like spending ten thousand dollars is no big deal for us, but . . . it is. Tucker
took a giant jar of change to the coinstar machine so we'll have money for food and so I could try to avoid incurring an overlimit charge on one of my credit cards. He did it early this morning since we woke up at six accidentally and of course the first thing out of my mouth was, "we need to take that change in TODAY and get it to my bank before it closes at noon".
I'm thinking of pawning my old wedding/engagement ring; the only thing delaying this act is that there's no pawn shop in town. I like my ring a lot, but I never wear it and it's really not that important to me. I've never pawned anything before, either, so I'm kind of curious about the process and like the idea of being part of an old white trash tradition. I like the idea of sacrificing something tangible and precious, of doing something ritualistic to commemorate this event and burn it even deeper into my brain. I don't think I've ever even been INSIDE a pawn shop, to tell you the truth.
I should confess that the only reason I'm in this current precarious situation is a lack of planning; I could have cammed my ass off for a month prior and paid for Trixie.com with no problem. But I didn't. I honestly didn't even consider making a goal of raising or saving a certain amount, partly because there was no way of guessing how much it would sell for and partly out of sheer optimism and faith that everything would turn out for the best. And it did. It does. It will. I trust "it". I trust myself.
Labels: accomplishments, class, dreams, money, things I treasure
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Full Gallery appearing in my Members-Only area with today's update.
Join TastyTrixie.com or SpyOnUs.com for ALL of my photos & videos!
We're leaving this afternoon for a two night shooting spree in a local hotel. Sadly, it's not wired for internet access, so you won't be seeing much excitement on our cams for the next couple of days. Maybe you'll catch the dog doing something interesting or spot us checking on her or our email during frequent trips home to let her go pee, etc.
I hope to write more pithy blog entries upon our return now that I am completely saturated with television. I had a nasty dream about Flava Flav
last night involving his teeth which were actually three elaborate sets of dentures. Everyone was playing basketball at some rapper's house when Flav decided to show me his teeth since I accidentally pitched a ball at his face, potentially harming his "teeth".
The first row was an intimidating row of predatorial metal jaws which he was able to lift out to reveal a startling inch-thick set of thick white falsies (sort of like game tiles or white dominos). Upon removal of the white ones there was a hideous rotten brown forest of brown stumps and decay like wet cardboard.
Watching MTV (and most specifically MTV Cribs) brought this sordid nightmare upon me and I think I need to pull myself away from the tube if I'm to avoid my brain being invaded by these grotesque visions. So. More good blogging, less tv-watching.
Labels: celebrity, dreams, PHOTOS, PORNOGRAPHY, television, webwhore insights, work
Friday, April 14, 2006
I dreamt I was selected to have sex with George W. in a swank hotel. I was very horny, and I couldn't WAIT to fuck George W. It seemed so dirty and nasty, I came over and over. I also dreamt (unrelated) we got a check in the mail for $7.93.
The directv guy is here right now, mounting our dish (which is why some of our cams and audio are down). He looks like a young Eugene Levy
, dark, greasy and bespectacled, but without the huge hair. He does have a cowlick and Dumb & Dumber bangs. I'm really hot for him and his obscenely cute chin. No, that is NOT sarcasm, it's the God's Honest TRUTH. He's kneeling in our bedroom right now; I got a sweet glimpse of the soles of his feet in white socks with a hole in the left heel. Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet. Again, this is not sarcasm. I just like feeeeeeeeeeeeeet.
Our house is unnervingly, abnormaly tidy after having a handyman visit yesterday and the cableguy here today. Straaaaaaaaaaaaaaange.
When I took a nap this morning (we woke up way too early in order to clean up for the directv installer guy, and when we finished I needed to snooze) I could smell pussy on our blankets. I nodded off, sniffing and sighing contentedly.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Full Gallery appearing now in my Members-Only area.
Join TastyTrixie.com or SpyOnUs.com for ALL of my pics & vids!
I just uploaded a couple of embarrassing updates to my members-only area. One of them being a non-pornographic only SLIGHTLY risque gallery featuring my massage therapist and I. The less porn-intentioned something is, the more intimate it seems to be, and the better it lends itself to naughty real-life sorts of fantasies. I really love the photos Tucker
took, the colors, the light and my freckled pink skin.
Speaking of massages, Tucker and I exchanged some last night and then he gave me a really good handjob and we had really yummy sex. Then we turned on American Psycho and I fell asleep to the sounds of Patrick Bateman's anxiety.
I had to wake up early to do some work that had to be done (selecting photos for promotional purposes takes me A VERY LONG TIME -- wading through tons of pictures trying to find the perfect ones to best represent you, second-guessing everything, wondering if it really will fit their layout or needs, etc.) so I lost some sleep and had to take a nap later. I wound up having some intense sex dreams and orgasms -- my clit was SO engorged it was blue-tinged and much larger than usual. I strummed it furiously, and also bent over to lick and kiss it (oh the sweetness of defying physical limitations in dreams). One of my stepbrothers was also involved; I was lucid enough to somewhat guiltlessly indulge in the taboo and enjoyed the hell out of it. Needless to say, my pussy was really wet when I woke up.
Tomorrow (Tuesday) we'll be moving all of our cams and computers to the new house, so they (the cams) will be down while I'm waiting for the cable guy. I hope the transition will be smooth and nearly-seamless for our members, but chances are there could be some hangups. I anticipate it will take a month to establish most of the cams in their perfect new locations and get new cables, mics and other equipment as the situation demands. The new computer won't come until next week so we may be short two or three cams in the meantime since we won't have the reach we have here; with one computer on one side of this house, and one on the other, we can stretch into pretty much every room. In the new house both of our computers will be in one corner of the house, with living and sleeping spaces in extreme other corners so we'll need to have more stations to cover it all.I know that's totally boring information, but I hate it when some people don't understand that there are logistical issues to consider with the whole spycam setup. All I really want people to know is that it's more complicated than some people imagine and I'm sensitive, have performance anxiety and I *so* desire to do a good job that it just makes me very uptight when some people think I'm not doing all I can to give *the best* far-reaching coverage of our home. I become very insecure and overwhelmed during moving-stress because I'm essentially USELESS during the process and feel completely incompetent. Thanks for your patience. Tucker is taking care of it/me and I will be back to semi-normal soon.
Labels: dreams, movies, PHOTOS, PORNOGRAPHY, spycams, voyeurism, webcam shows, webwhore insights, work
Saturday, January 14, 2006
I'm exhausted by last night's nightmares, the most vivid a variation on a recurring theme of me having to stab someone to death.
I was a black woman with a child, and a black ex-cop was teaching me how to protect myself from rape and/or murder. I didn't trust him; he seemed misguided. He demonstrated how to hitchhike safely. A semi pulled over for us in the dark where my car broke down and the cop told us to wait and make the driver get out of the cab to approach us, rather than immediately climbing into the cab ourselves.
The driver welcomed us and I got in the truck, leaving the cop behind and as soon as the door slammed I knew I was in trouble. The driver looked like Chris Cooper's character, John LaRoche, in Adaptation
. He had a son in the sleeper. As soon as we started rolling, the driver started talking about filthy niggers and coons, looking at me all the time to see how I would respond, making sure I was adequately frightened. By this time I think my own child had disappeared, and I was more aware of the driver's son, disturbed the man would speak this way in front of his child.
The driver made it clear he hated anyone who wasn't white and was driving me somewhere to rid the planet of my presence. We wound up somewhere desolate, he pulled out a knife and came at me. We fought, he stabbed me, but the really violent freaky parts in dreams like this are when I gain a little advantage and I know I have to kill the person. It is EXTREMELY VIVID. I got his knife and stabbed him. Repeatedly. He just wouldn't die, so (as usual in these dreams) I just kept reminding myself to press on, not quit, to try not to be bothered by the feeling of forcing the blade through bone, cartilage, flesh, etc. To keep pulling the sucking resistant stuck-tight steel from his ribs, and plunge it in again and again, aiming for the space behind his back, thrusting deep, imagining thrusting past him to do the most harm. To do as much damage as possible, to slash at his throat even if it spattered me and if the blade snagged and ripped his skin from his neck. To stab his eyeballs, to not give him a moment to harm me.
I can't describe how freaky these nightmares are to me, how vivid and un-movie-like they are. How real they feel even when I am lucid enough to know my life is not really in danger because I'm dreaming; I still feel that my life depends on overcoming any qualms I have about destroying this person's tissues. I have to kill this person because he's trying to kill and rape and stab and torture ME.
On that happy note, I have a show a 2 pm Pacific. There will be no knives.
Labels: dreams, movies, race, violence
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
The Sweetness of Fatigue
I feel incredibly exhausted. My period is due today and I feel deliciously magnetized to the ground. I tried eating a banana, but it didn't improve my energy. I tried taking a walk, but that didn't energize me either. I want to just FLOP into bed and lay there, heavy and bloblike.
I don't feel bad-tired, I feel good-tired. Like this is what chill weather, a waxing moon, and hot chocolate are made for; for me to wrap myself in flannel and dream about an isolated glacial mountain retreat town, nearly deserted, and my mom and I climbing up and down a rickety frightening staircase built into steep shifty slopes of ice. This is the second or third weird and vivid fraught-with-danger ice-mountain travel-dream I've had in as many months. Frozen mountain ranges are a very new setting for my dreams; unless there is some wild symbolic meaning, the only inspiration I can find for this setting is Lord of the Rings, particularly one of the video games where I had to spend a lot of time trying to get past the early snowy mountain-range scene. But that was a year ago! It could also have been inspired by reading His Dark Materials
and all of the brilliant arctic-feeling scenes. Mmmm!! Heaven would be a week snowed into a cozy cabin with those three splendid books. Anyway, I've never dreamt much of mountains before this, either, at least not that I recall right now. I *have* been plagued by stressful dreams involving staircases for a very long time (since I was a child, and our house didn't even have stairs in it).
"Glacier" is not in my dream encyclopedia, but snow and ice are predictably described as symbols of blocked emotions. Whatever. Mountains and stairs have similarly silly symbolic meaning attached to them. I'm too lazy to delve into this with more depth, and would prefer not to receive any interpretations from others.
Labels: books, dreams, food, hormones, weather
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Ode to PMS
ODE TO PMS
Damn the party size bag of Tim's Cascade Sea Salt 'n Vinegar chips. My glasses are smeared with grease and I feel like puking.
Last night I dreamt that Tucker
and I were moving into my mom's house, the house where I spent the first twenty years of my life. Tucker was working hard on the house and getting impatient with my ineptitude. The ceiling in many rooms started to bubble and fill with water, finally leaking before crumbling to the floor leaving giant holes for rain to pour through. I looked up through one of the holes and realized that THE ENTIRE ROOF had blown off -- we had no roof!! As soon as I pointed this out to him in a panic, I reconsidered and said, "this could be a blessing in disguise!" We could add a whole second floor to the house and have insurance money to do it! Then Tucker scoffed at me, saying the insurance wouldn't cover it because we couldn't even prove there was a storm. So he found the old roof, drug it over and put it back on top of the house himself. Somehow I got my second floor anyway and some new bedrooms and we started having more sex with more people on cam. I stood on one side of the room staring at the cam display at me and at Tucker having sex with two or three other couples. There was so much space in the room . . . lots of floor . . . and all of the girls had shiny hair, even I did.
I have to keep erasing the bitchy PMS rants I start making in my blog because I'll regret them as soon as my period starts.
Tomorrow (Sunday) I've scheduled showercam and chat before we head to Seattle to spend the night with my sister and Bradle. It will be the first time we've seen them since their wedding . . . and the planting of the seed! She's been having a really tough time with morning sickness.
I'm really sleepy and lazy but I have to stay up a little while longer to finish Tucker's update. Well, START and finish it. Sigh.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Last night I dreamt that I was lactating . . . little beads of milk at the tips of my nipples, and squirty jets when I pulled/tugged on my breasts. I tried to find someone with a baby to offer myself in service as a wet nurse. I've never lactated before in real life, but pms tends to bring me these kinds of dreams.Upcoming Events for Members:
NEWS FLASH Tonight, 7-8 pm Pacific Time.
Click on the SpyOnYou link on Members-Only page.
Join TastyTrixie.com or SpyOnUs.com for access to our voyeurcams & chatroom.
Labels: announcements, dreams
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Around noon today a word entered my head: Masabake. All day I kept thinking about Masabake without having a clue what it is or where the word came from. I think it's a proper noun, maybe I read it in a book . . . but I finally googled the word tonight and didn't get one single result.
Masabake. What or where or who is it?
Probably something stupid I made up in my dreams. I'm a very active dreamer. A C3P0 predecessor figured prominently in one that I had a few nights ago.
Oddly enough as the days get colder, I've spent the past few nights sleeping totally naked. Usually I prefer having a top on, and nothing on bottom just to keep my shoulders and chest warm. For some strange reason I've been COOKING in my sleep lately, and ripping off my top in the middle of the night. Maybe it's just my body fighting off my cold? We'll see . . .
It seems like anything worth blogging about is too substantial for me to feel like sitting down and writing about. Mostly I am just feeling content and patient lately, at least much more so than usual. I've been spending more time with books, which makes me happy, plus I love the change of season we're enjoying right now . . . the days getting shorter and being blessed with more darkness.
Right now I'm reading The Mists of Avalon
(no -- I've never read it before!). I'm not big on Arthurian legend and would know absolutely none of the characters if not for being assigned to read The Once and Future King
in junior high, but I'm enjoying the book. I'm actually enjoying pretty much everything these days, and lately when I am in our chatroom there are more people and they're almost all nice to talk with; when summer's over more people are around inside on their computers to hang out and chat with us which is a lot more fun for me than trying to get one or two shy people or slow typists to entertain me.
The past couple of weeks (while I've had my cold) I feel like I've been giving myself room to enjoy the freedom I have to do whatever I want to do (tempered by the knowledge of course that I'm not quite THAT free, especially in regards to what kind of content I can have on my sites and what kinds of words I can use, etc. without fear of being SUSPENDED by my payment processors or invaded by the Department of "Justice" or the FBI . . . that's not a very good feeling but is one I'm feeling more patient about fighting). Now I'm feeling the need and desire to buckle down with a little more work since I've been spending one to two hours reading every day and then one to three hours watching dvd's with Tucker. Now that I write that down though, two to five hours a day of slack time isn't that bad of a deal. Maybe instead of pulling out my nerdy efficiency sheets to pencil in more work, I should just try to get a little more exercise and call it good.
Today we did some work, shot a couple of sets of photos and videos, and ate some yummy salmon and potatoes that Tucker cooked up before heading downtown in the rain for some tollhouse pie and coffee. YUM.
If anyone has ever heard of Masabake, please leave comments!
Labels: books, dreams, mundane
Friday, August 12, 2005
I'm not sure I ever knew that Herve Villechaize
killed himself. As a little girl I loved watching Fantasy Island
; it was sexy, sinister, and of course totally fantastic. I got to watch all kinds of television shows as a kid at my grandparent's house that my mom would never have permitted me to watch at home; we had a tv in our bedroom there and I was a little night owl even then, so I'd stay up all night to see if any boobs would be on public television and to watch seventies horror flicks. One of my favorite movies was Asylum
Why does it seem like the seventies and eighties embraced the forlorn, the melancholy, and the macabre so much more than the nineties and the present suck-ass century full of silicone-bloat, young-country "music", and criminally-insane levels of "Christianity" and "patriotism"?
If I remember correctly, there were a lot more scary clowns and freaky ventriloquist dummies back in the seventies and eighties. My first erotic dreams were about me and a grown-up man clown.
More information on Herve's suicide
Labels: celebrity, dreams, fetishes, memories, movies, news, television
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
A Dream about a Stripper
Last night I dreamt about a stripper named Lichen. She insisted people spell it "Liken" (or maybe "Likin'", I didn't quite get the ending as she spelled it out).
Tonight there will be massage and hanky panky on the spycams. Yesterday I spent way too much time masturbating -- did anyone else notice that?
I am on a theremin
kick after watching/hearing The Machinist
with it's beautiful eerie score reminiscent of Bernard Herrmann's score for Vertigo
. I've decided I'd like to be a theremin-playing webwhore. What could possibly be more erotic than an instrument described this way
Besides looking like no other instrument, the theremin is unique in that it is played without being touched. Two antennas protrude from the theremin - one controlling pitch, and the other controlling volume. As a hand approaches the vertical antenna, the pitch gets higher. Approaching the horizontal antenna makes the volume softer. Because there is no physical contact with the instrument, playing the theremin requires precise skill and perfect pitch.
Labels: dreams, movies, music
Saturday, July 02, 2005
I'm in a much better mood than at the time of my last entry; I might just be sick of being stressed out and now, having indulged myself, am ready to toss the stress over my shoulder. I'm also feeling really excited about the prospect of shooting content. We haven't shot much since we got back from our vacation, and the break has been great for renewing my enthusiasm and giving me unhurried time to fantasize about cool ideas rather than worrying about all the time- and money-consuming practicalities that go into shooting.
Last night we watched The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
; halfway through it we decided to augment the experience with some herb. And then we went to bed and fucked like cummy monkeys. And *then* . . . I slept like a baby (except for the endless bizarre dreams, some of which included a Tyson/Ali/Foremanesque character who morphed quite a bit).
Speaking of fucking, I just have to mention that Tucker
's and my sexual compatibility is unparalleled by anyone else in my roster of past sex partners. I can murmur incomplete lines hinting at the fantasy playing in my head, and I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about but to any other person it would probably just sound like some bizarre uncrackable code.
As far as the movie went, it really didn't thrill me. In fact, the only reason I even finished watching it is because I was high (and because Cate Blanchett's swollen belly and jugs looked so luscious). But what's this? Wes Anderson is making The Fantastic Mr. Fox
? Oh my god!!! I LOVED that book
!! I read it about a billion times (even after I had totally "outgrown" it), and think it could be a fantastic movie in Anderson's hands. Speaking of Roald Dahl books made into movies, I'm not as excited as you might expect about Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
. Maybe because that wasn't one of my favorite Dahl books (Danny, the Champion of the World
is probably my favorite).
Okay . . . I'm now going to finish Tucker's weekly update.
Labels: books, dreams, money, movies, mundane, SEX, sex work
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Dreams about my Mom in the Shower
DREAMS ABOUT MY MOM IN THE SHOWER
No, this is not some kinky fantasy thing I cooked up to celebrate Mother's Day. Nothing fun like that. Over the past couple of weeks I've had a couple of horrible nightmares involving my mom in the shower.
I had the first dream a week or two ago. My mom was yacking, rambling on and on while I was concentrating on something else and wishing she would shut up. I tuned her out but she continued chattering as she went into the shower. I could hear the water running and her voice babbling on and on until I realized there was a new urgency in her voice. She was trying to get my attention, Trixie . . . Trixie!! Trixie!
but I still disregarded her thinking she was only trying to verify that I was listening. She continued calling my name, louder and louder, until her voice crescendoed into a scream and I realized the water was scalding her. The shower was inexplicably raining boiling hot water onto her, and she couldn't turn it down. She rattled the glass shower door which wouldn't open for her. She was trapped, being boiled alive, screaming for me to help her. I tried to get up and run to help her, but my legs were crossed with my feet caught in my nightgown. I couldn't extricate my legs from my nightgown and uncross my legs while my mom was being scalded to death, screaming my name. It was *horrible*. I woke up with my heart racing, panting, sweating . . . fuck. It was terrible.
Then last night I dreamt I was in my and Tucker's bed, as I really was, except Tucker wasn't there, and my mom was in the shower next to our bedroom. I was laying in bed and my stepdad came in, naked. He crawled onto the bed, kneeling in between my legs and began to rape me as I tried to call for my mom. Mommy!! Mommy!! Help me!!! Mommy!!!
My voice was weak and wouldn't carry. I couldn't seem to get a good holler from my guts. I could hear the shower running as my stepdad grinned lecherously. She was so close but I couldn't make her hear me. I woke up with my heart racing, panting, sweating.
It was terrible. But the first dream was worse.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
More Baby Dreams
MORE BABY DREAMS
I can't seem to stop dreaming about babies. Last night I dreamt I went to verify someone's check order and he handed me his wrinkly pink premature baby in a yellow blanket. As I was holding him, the baby began singing an advertising jingle, forming the word "customers" with his tiny pink mouth in a gruff emphysema-riddled grandpa voice. His eyes were squinched shut like a baby bird, and he spoke to me out of the side of his mouth, cartoon-conspiracy fashion.
Then some daredevil hippy woman I was hanging out with for unknown reasons went skydiving with her babies and other people's babies barely attached to her torso by flimsy harness baby-carrier things. I was in the sky too, falling with them (I think I was seatbelted into the backseat of a partial car that was falling through the sky in slow motion with her). The round baby bottoms filled out the storklike slings and they kicked their little legs, wriggling to escape confinement. I was scared and wanted to reach out and save them, thinking how utterly stupid and careless this woman was. They were crawling all over her and multiplying . . . an asian baby, a black baby, little scrunched up white babies . . . there was no way the woman's two arms and the slings could contain them.
I'm blaming these dreams on an inundation of baby pictures and baby talk the past week. Jen and Dave
had preemie twins and posted pics of them, one of my friends sent photos of her baby and toddler son, my sister and I were talking about her plans to have babies, Kris
and I were emailing back and forth about babies, and did you hear that Ben (Affleck) and Jen(nifer Garner) are said to be expecting? Enough already! Fortunately last nights dreams were less appealing than the other one I had, which sent me into an irrepressible "I'm meant to breed" mood, especially when I re-read the blog entry
I made about said dream sitting right on top of a picture of my big bare boobs
that scream "baby-feeders" and "baby-pillows" while my face seems to say "cozy momma".
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
BEST PUSSY-EATING *EVER*
BEST PUSSY-EATING *EVER*
I have never enjoyed having my pussy eaten as much as I enjoyed it last night.
Let me reiterate for those of you who don't know me well: having my pussy eaten is one of my least favorite sexual activities. I would almost always rather have a hand job than have someone go down on me. I would *much* rather suck cock than have my whisker biscuit licked. I would rather eat someone ELSE'S pussy, than have mine eaten. I come much much MUCH faster during intercourse than I could possibly come during oral sex. I'm not saying I *hate* getting my pussy eaten, because that's not at all accurate; I do enjoy it quite a bit at times . . . I just tend to enjoy other things a lot more.
But last night.
Let me explain something else for those of you who don't know me well. I rarely drink, and have very very very very little experience with drugs (and pretty much plan to keep it that way). Tucker and I had never even smoked pot together, and we've been together for almost four years. I tend to get carried away, smoke too much, and have anxiety attacks, so I basically stay away from it.
But last night.
Mmmmmm -- it didn't take much for either of us. We were going to watch one of my all time favorite movies, The Nightmare Before Christmas
, but started making out instead. He was quickly on the verge of coming, and I felt like I was on the verge (and in that mood of "I want to do everythingeverythingEVERYTHING right now!"). My clit felt so fat and hard I wanted him to lick it, and lick it he did.
Believe it or not, I think I've only had sex *once* while I was high. Oh wait, maybe twice. So this would be maybe the third time. It didn't make me orgasm more or faster, but it made every single stroke of his tongue feel SO FUCKING GOOD. Like, I was in the moments right before orgasm for twenty minutes or something. I'm normally so in-my-head and my mind wanders so much . . . well, last night when my mind wandered my body still experienced sensation to the nth degree, and I had no desire to control my mind's travels off track. That is good medicine.
So we fucked a bunch after that, more orgasms for both of us, and I fell asleep listening to The Nightmare Before Christmas. Oh, bliss!
Sometime during the night I had a dream/nightmare of wandering through a multi-storied rundown school/hospital with lots of people in wheelchairs and that gross cafeteria smell of thick bread dough, bleach, and cooked soggy green beans. Somehow I came upon a pediatric ward of some type, almost as bad as a Romanian orphanage.
I picked up a perfect infant named Nick, chubby, alert and adoring, and he became mine.
In spite of my anti-breeding stance, I cannot resist babies when I'm dreaming. In dreams I can't seem to repress my mothering instinct and nothing makes the world feel more right than having a fat perfect baby in my arms.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
SOME KIND OF MONSTER
We just watched METALLICA: SOME KIND OF MONSTER
. I'd heard it was fantastic, nominated for all kinds of awards, etc. but I think that was just society's way of making reparations for the time they unfairly lost to Jethro Tull at the Grammies.
I cringed throughout the entire documentary following James, Lars, and Kirk's most boringly dysfunctional vulnerable moments. Watching them interact with each other and their therapist was more uncomfortable than reading my own diaries from junior high.
I was really annoyed with Lars' little one million dollar sign-on offer to Robert Trujillo and how generous and patriarchal he tried to make himself sound. The little bitch just sold one painting for $5 million and a new bass player is only worth one million? Come on. I was also annoyed that the Metallica guys seemed COMPLETELY UNFAMILIAR with any other musicians. They kept referring to their potential new bandmate(s) as "that guy". Fuck -- even I had heard Robert Trujillo's name before all of this. Lars needs to stop buying paintings and start looking at all the other music available for download online besides Metallica shit. Oh, and how do at least five multimillionaires get together in a room and not a single one of them knows the saying is, "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" NOT "you wash
my back, I'll wash
yours"? Or is this a regional thing . . . because here in Washington state I've only heard "scratch". Have you heard "wash"? Maybe they say it differently down there in California.
As we watched this film, I made a promise to Tucker
and myself that as soon as we have the money for it, we will employ a therapist instead of waiting through 14-20 years of dysfunction and bullshit to make the crap necessary (and almost completely futile). But let me tell you, we will NEVER film a moment of it. Ugh. Not that Tucker and I have the potential to reach the heights of bitchiness that Lars and James have attained, but you get the picture.
Really, all of James' and Lars' problems could have been / could still be solved if they devoted about 45 minutes a week to giving each other handjobs or simply beating off in each other's company. You know, two or three quick jack off sessions to show each other they still have that special bond.
Oh my god, and did we have to see Dave Mustaine confront Lars on all of the emotional torment he's suffered since leaving Metallica? This movie is PROOF that guys are just as capable of being hyperemotional sissy bitches as any genetic girl ever dreamt of being. There were at least thirty minutes-worth of shots of the "I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry" face.
The movie also made me ponder the question, "how do you know when it's time to quit?" After reaching dizzying heights of success is there anything wrong with moving on in life and leaving your heavy metal band (or porn career) behind or at least turning that energy over into a new project or role in the same industry? After reaching a certain level of success, I don't know how moving on could be a failure so much as a maturation (and suitable reward for a job well done and FINISHED).
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
I LOVE TO FUCK
I LOVE TO FUCK
I hate to sound like I'm catering to the masses of sex-hounds, but it's true; I love to fuck. We fucked last night, I dreamt
about fucking through the night and into the morning, I did some private shows today in which I fucked myself, I put on my strap-on during Tucker's show, and after that we wrestled and tickled each other on the couch until we wound up fucking again. I love to fuck.
After that, we enjoyed watching one of the all-time best movie scenes EVER, in which Dean Stockwell responds to Dennis Hopper's demand for "candy colored clown they call the sandman" by lip synching Roy Orbison's, "In Dreams".
As if the past 24 hours weren't perfect enough already, I logged into NiteFlirt
and had someone call me, and not say a word. For eight whole minutes. Silence. Just me, chattering away nonsexually and amusing myself on his dime.
No matter how "predictable" you think men are . . . no matter how women say, "men are all the same!" . . . it's just not true. If a guy calls a phone sex line and doesn't say anything, you cannot assume that he wants you to launch into a generic sex scenario filled with four-letter words. You cannot assume he is just bored with a high-limit credit card and wants to toy with some anonymous phone sex operator by hearing her struggle to fill dead air. You cannot assume he's at work and needs to be quiet lest his co-workers overhear him. You cannot assume by his silence that he wants you to humiliate him. You cannot assume that he merely seeks the "click" of you hanging up on him.
When he eventually hangs up then calls back in a few minutes and says only one thing, "I would like you to go down on me", you cannot assume he just wants to hear you make slurping, gasping and sucking noises any more than you can simply assume he wants you to NARRATE an entire story, or a combination of the two, because that staged story schtick really annoys some people, while wet drooly noises are met with contempt by others. When you have sucked your fingers for a good ten minutes, gasping and panting and BREATHING audibly to the point of hyperventilation, you cannot assume that he's bored even though he hasn't uttered a WORD, not a SOUND . . . not an audible sigh or moan himself. Not a slap or a rub or a squirt of lotion . . . not one sign of a pulse except that if he died, surely the phone would have fallen to the floor and you'd have heard that.
You cannot assume that when he finally speaks again, to tell you that you are going to sit on his chest so he can lick your cunt, that he is just very shy and it has taken him all this time to summon up the courage to tell you what happens next in his fantasy. He enunciates very clearly, and after a few minutes of my cunt in his face, he speaks one precisely pronounced sentence to me, "you spread your butt cheeks apart with both hands so I can breathe you in." Not said hastily, everything enunciated clearly . . . equal space between each syllable, a narrow dynamic range that could have been programmed as in a speak-and-spell, with just enough variation to let you know when his sentence is complete.
You cannot assume that a man's silence reflects a lack of imagination or an amputated tongue. You cannot assume he's trying to control a stutter. You cannot assume his coolness indicates he's merely conducting sociological research on sex work.
When, out of the silent void on his end, he interrupts your ass-eating narrative to say, "thank you. That was very nice," you simply choose to believe that it really was
"nice" for him, and that he appreciated whatever service it was you provided.
I may have been better at phone sex in the beginning, when I tried too hard and when I made assumptions . . .
I'm not saying that every guy is a complete mystery from start to finish. Nooooo . . . it really takes very very little direction or hinting for a guy to clue you in to the location of his hot-buttons and the nature of his interests. Maybe that's why I'm fascinated by the ones who are a little mysterious.
To see a little of the range of play a webwhore gets with private customers, my members can check out some of my privatecamz show archives
for free. I am little reluctant to share those, as I feel those are really private moments BUT they're for sale on that camsite so why shouldn't my members get to see them for free? Here are a few of the shows:
Hot TOES - I self-suck my piggies!
Very nice foot self-love, if you're into that type of thing (which I *am*).
Stockings, Garter Belt & STRAP-ON!
A nice dress-up show with lots of straps and belts and garters, along with my harnessed dildo sticking up in the air while I fuck myself with a second dildo.
VERY Taboo Kinky Roleplay with Mommy
This is the kind of stuff I really don't like archived for posterity. I don't like people who are just "curious" to wander into my and my customers' taboo fantasy lives, but whatever.
My Doughy, Dimpled BELLY!
It's so wrinkly and talkative!
Since I've been falling behind on my twelve days of Christmas updates for members, my hope is the addition of these archives will mitigate any negative lazy-webwhore impressions you might have.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Opening lines for potential blog entries:
"This morning I awoke with the scent of poop on my index finger."
"Shiny pearlescent cowboy-shirt snaps clicked under my fingernails."
"I dreamt I held a soft, skinny kitten and worried about the electrodes and wires under his vulnerable furred skin."
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Too close to call. How do I feel? Negative. Depressed. Angry. Resentful. I don't seem to want to look on/find the bright side. What I want to do is withdraw further from people, give up, etc. I'm not proud of these feelings, but here they are. Maybe I just resent thinking about how much work all of us need to do to make our world a better place. Maybe I just don't know how to look at the power small intimate changes have, when I feel so overwhelmed by the ignorance fueling what appears to be the majority of people in this country.
I had nightmares last night that it was Christmas Eve and I was semi-in charge of babies, little girls and young women. My stepdad arrived, invited and/or tolerated by my mom. He was shirtless, unkempt, and giddy and was trying to film the girls I wanted to protect. I was disgusted by him, I hated his presence, and I burned to remove him, get rid of him . . . maybe kill him. The night wore on and on and he was sullying and ruining the holiday with his perverted selfish presence. I don't remember how I finally got rid of him but . . . I guess that's how I feel about this election, except with the election it looks like he'll be here for Christmas . . . opening presents that don't belong to him. I just can't stand it.
I feel terrible. I feel like a trapped vulnerable adolescent with nowhere to hide, and nothing that can't be stolen from her.
I feel hopeless.
Waiting to hear on Ohio while Republicans are already celebrating "winning" there. They have SO much to be proud of, for example not allowing new voters to register on anything less than 80-pound stock paper
. Here's more on that particular issue
. Of course, there are many more to discuss. Big, heavy, and ugly.
And lucky us, here in Washington some Republican piece of shit who wants to get rid of internet porn is sliding into the position of Attorney General.
All of my patriotism? Well, welcome to my new era of cynicism. I guess I'm really growing up now. For the past few years I was just ashamed of our "president". But now, with election results like this? I am ashamed of my country.
Thursday, September 02, 2004
MY PERIOD IS TRYING TO START
MY PERIOD IS TRYING TO START
I had nightmares that I was laying in bed with a hole like a drainage pipe in the ceiling directly above me. I was trying to give Tucker
a clue using anxiety-riddled breathing patterns that I needed him to wake me up out of this nightmare, but Tucker wasn't even in the room. I laid there, paralyzed and horrified, watching that small hole's appearance change as it filled with water, but not to the point of splashing down on me (yet). I knew it was only a matter of time before it flooded out onto my nose and mouth, with me unable to move. I also had some knowledge of it's connection to a septic system -- it wouldn't be long before shit was pouring down onto me.
Speaking of shit, I had an unusual fantasy yesterday which I put down on paper (the fantasy, not the shit - different kind of paper) and won't publish on my site.
Yes, these are the kinds of disturbed visions visited upon me during the hormonal throes of premenstrual syndrome.
Tucker is working hard on a thorough overhaul of DeliaCD.com
, so I balanced out his productivity last night by wasting time in a way I *usually* avoid like the plague: I did a crossword and some other "bookworm" word game on yahoo. I am a fucking retard when it comes to crossword puzzles -- I mean, I operate on moron level. I can usually get about seven words off the bat, then it turns out three of them are totally wrong (and I felt so SURE of them!!), and I'm at a complete loss after that. The sick thing is I could easily become addicted to those fuckers if I gave myself half a chance. It's probably a good thing that they make me feel like I'm borderline retarded or I would waste more time doing shit like that. Somehow I just don't visualize words in a way that translates into boxed-in, individual letters. It fucks my brain all up.
I feel like going back to bed. Fortunately, I don't feel that guilty about it since I got my super-cool stopwatch/timer/clock thingy -- since then I've discovered I actually spend less than eight hours on an average night, so it's okay if I nest more while I'm PMSing.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
MY BIG BOOBS
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Working on finishing another gallery featuring my big boobs, freckles, furry muff, garters, stockings -- you probably get the idea from the picture, eh?
Okay, so another thing . . . now that I have another hard drive I ALSO suddenly have enough room to organize more mp3's which means it will be easier for me to add new playlists to my "radio" station, The Human Condition
. I have some magical goodnighty music playing right now and I'll leave it up for awhile before moving it to a limited scheduled bedtime.
Last night if you saw me in bed crying, it's because I just finished reading Bastard out of Carolina
. Then I followed it up by picking up The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (one of my faves AND the current Oprah's Book Club selection
so I thought I'd re-read it. It was nice to get in some crying time while Delia
was working on iFriends
After Delia worked all night long and took off her feminine attire, s/he was hungry for pussy. Eventually I wound up having a fantastic orgasm from a combination of digital anal penetration, pussy licking, and my own speedy fingers on my clit. After that, I wound up on top with his cock in me and that lovely finger of his in my ass again . . . and another orgasm. Yummy!!
Then I fell back to sleep and had a bad dream. I was at my grandparents' old house trying to program a dvd player to replay over and over a certain scene I wanted to masturbate to, but my grandpa was alive in the dream and he came home while I was busy doing this. He didn't even notice what I was up to because he had terrible news: "The bombs are on the way." The end was coming . . . we ran outside and already half the sky was in shadow. I mourned the fact that my sister and Tucker and my mom were far away and I wouldn't be able to be with them when we died. I tried to resign myself to it and achieve some peace as I wondered if I'd be killed quickly and painlessly or if I'd feel my body on fire.
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Thursday, April 29, 2004
I think I'm getting better at taking days off. Yesterday I got up and went grocery shopping (very proud of myself for bringing containers for bulk food instead of using new plastic bags & bottles), then we watched an episode of The Office
while eating some yummy breakfast burritos Tucker
cooked up. Then I weeded some flowerbeds as my contribution to our landlord not thinking we are total slobs if he drives by "our" house (you know, the one we don't want to invest money in buying perrenials for since it's just a rental otherwise we'd probably do a lot more yardwork). I'm hoping to throw some money at some plants anyway if they will yield cut flowers which I can justify as having photographic value for our websites even if people are too blinded by cock and pussy to notice them hehe.
While I was doing yardwork the UPS man dropped off a package of mounting brackets from an angel (thanks CServ!) which we still haven't put to use since we decided to go rent a PS2 game and drink some Mimosas last night. Let me just say that Tomb Raider: Angel of Darkness
is fucking boring. I do not want to collect candybars, I want to kick ass, mkay?
Then I went to bed and read a chapter of Bastard out of Carolina. Then I fell asleep and had sex dreams revolving around "Brian" on Queer as Folk. Only he wasn't queer in my dream.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
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White panties (one of my fave fetish items) and bare feet coming up with tomorrow's update, along with a teen "lesbo" gallery (pretty brunettes with UNshaved pussies - how refreshing!) and a funny x-rated alien encounter gallery.
Wacky dreams from last night: I was young person (who grew younger as the dream progressed) trying to get to Boston for school (at first maybe it was college and then it was boarding school). I wound up riding with a rich family - I felt very uncomfortable and out-of-place. The dad drove way too fast and they were such a happy family, even though the girls in the family couldn't control his reckless driving. The scenery was beautiful, the roads and offramps spiraling wildly down into tree-lined harbors with sparkling water. I was afraid we were going to fly right off the road, that he'd accidentally take a ramp that was incomplete. I was crushed against the side of the car in the backseat, there weren't enough seat belts. Sometimes I was a girl in the family, and sometimes I was me, the outsider. He drove madly through gridlock, driving on the shoulder. At high speed we passed someone broken down on the side of the road. Long past this person the dad stopped and TURNED AROUND, using the shoulder to drive the wrong way on a four lane freeway back to the stranded driver. The girls in the family protested, and I felt especially uneasy considering there were police and firemen-types at the scene now, walking in the shoulder, investigating something. Two firemen in charcoal grey suits and masks were carrying a small stretcher with a sheet-covered lump on it. Two stiff baby arms jutted out dead and white from under each side of the sheet. Tiny baby palms faced up with plump paralyzed fingers curled up to the sky. Later we were in a park with Clinton and young Chelsea for the opening procession for boarding school. A stone pathway snaked wildly through green grass. The size of the stones varied as did their elevation above the ground. All of the other kids and parents knew the routine. I had no parents and resisted following the serpentine pathway stone-for-stone, I wanted to just run ahead in the direction the path was leading rather than wasting time on the twists and turns everyone else scampered along just for the sake of ceremony. I thought, "the shortest distance between two points is a straight line!" Still I tried to fit in and to do what they were doing, but I was clumsy and heavy and kept falling off the path accidentally anyway.
Friday, March 19, 2004
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I am tired. I have pms. I'm intolerable. I've wasted a lot of time the past week and a half. I'm tired of myself.
Dinner of fatty pieces of raw beautiful fish between my fingers. Dog-stink hummas farts leaking out of my ass all day. Dreamt about Strunk and White's Elements of Style
I really admire Oprah even if she has so much anti-porn crap on her show. She is an amazing role model who's influenced so many people to make positive changes in their lives from reading more to just plain giving a shit about themselves.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
ST. PADDY'S DAY / MY BIRTHDAY
presented me with a birthday kiss and gift when I woke up: a gypsy music cd
wrapped up inside newsprint sex ads from The Stranger
. I love the melodrama of gypsy music.
So I'm 31 now. For the next nine years I'll just be 30-something and that's fine with me. I have experienced and grown a lot over the past nine years so it's exciting to imagine what life will be like and what I'll have experienced when I'm 40.
I rarely telephone friends or relatives, but today I decided to call one of my former bosses/coworkers. I haven't talked to her in a couple of years - I think it was a birthday treat to myself to connect with someone I spent a lot of time with in the past. She still works for the same company I worked for before I quit to devote myself to webwhoring. I left right before things peaked and took a plunge. They anticipate shutting down in six months.
To celebrate St. Patrick's Day I bought some of my favorite cheese: a rennetless Dubliner Irish Cheddar. I'm skimming sweet slices off the wedge with a paring knife and nibbling away in between sentences. I also played some of The Frames
while chatting with a handful of devoted fans who came into the chatroom to wish me a happy birthday.
Other than that I've been anticipating the arrival of my period (it's very near: last night I dreamt it started during a visitation with David Byrne
which is better than the nightmare I had a few nights ago about Mike Tyson's tiger
chasing me around his estate and trying to ride with me in his limo). Anyway, usually when I dream that I'm bleeding . . . it's because I AM bleeding so I assume my period is very near. To help me (emotionally) through my hormonal difficulties I've been eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeating a lot. I bought another bag of salt 'n vinegar chips today; I'd eat a couple of chips then pop a grape tomato into my mouth while licking the salt residue off my fingers -- yum!! Then Tucker made a chicken salad which we spooned onto hot spinach naan slathered with butter and hummas that he whipped up yesterday. With some Annie's Goddess Dressing and parmesan cheese it was sooooooooooo good!!
I'm going to try to get to sleep earlier tonight than last night when I checked into bed at around 3:30 am.
Yesterday I finished a very girly book called Dream Train
about a photographer chick's life being transformed during a trip on the Orient Express (which fascinates me along with trains in general). She learns she's valuable, likable, attractive . . . and ready to move beyond loneliness to embrace a life full of love. Yes, it was pretty lame, but a relaxing likeable read.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
DARK & STORMY
It was a very windy night and morning. I had many bad dreams, some with fires and overflowing bathtubs (and you KNOW how scary those can be!). My point is, I wouldn't be surprised if we lost our internet connection and/or power today.
The best thing was waking up at 4:30 am, distressed by the nightmares, going pee, then coming back to bed only to have the dog get up and sidle over to my side of the bed for some love, the hope of an invitation to get into bed with us, and then discussing that *I* should get back up with *her*. So I got up, let her get a drink of water, let her go potty outside . . . and in that early morning full-moon-behind-clouds eeriness it just felt good to be helping take care of somebody (the dog). Tucker's usually the one who gets up and lets her out in the morning and I don't envy him that position . . . but every so often I get to marvel at the view in the middle-of-the-night while communing in simple ways with our beautiful dog.
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Thursday, January 29, 2004
DREAMING OF PUSSY
I can still see the hot young teen pussy from last night's dream on display to me in a "hamburger shot" from behind.
In my dream I was a troubled young person (morphing between being a girl and a boy - for most of the dream I was a boy). The sky was drizzly and overcast (as it's been here the past couple of days). Lots of climbing on steep eroding hills with loose dirt and dead strawlike long matted-down grass. I was somehow slipping away from my family. I was suicidal or something . . . they were trying to save me and I just wanted to get away. There were some people at a picnic, and lots of them were young girls. One who was a cross between Kirsten Dunst and the girl in Thirteen caught my eye because, as I mentioned before, she was laying on her side on the ground, looking over her shoulder smiling while her skirt was hitched up, exposing her pussy from behind. She didn't want to do anything with me, but I convinced her I could do a spectacular job of eating her pussy (in my dream I was absolutely FAMISHED for her pussy). All I needed to do was find a private place. I took her hand and we went running through dirt trails between a river and fields of dead grass with stunted leafless twiggy trees. I didn't want her to have to lay down someplace dirty or anyplace where someone would spot me eating underage pussy so it was difficult to find a good spot. I realized her feet were bare and I was anxious that she might change her mind with the delay so I scooped her up in my arms and ran, carrying her in my arms, ACHING to be alone with her pussy. After passing up a few acceptable but imperfect locations we wound up on a community college campus where I knew it would be next to impossible to find privacy. She sort of faded out of the dream at this point I think, as I focused on other anxieties.
A tractor and a crane -- what was that all about?
Anyway, I have lots of email to respond to and stuff so that's all for the time being.
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Monday, January 26, 2004
We just got back from seeing Big Fish
at the theatre. I love Tim Burton, I loved this movie, love love love love. I love the storytelling, I love the outsiders, I love the fantastic elements so tenderly illustrating such universal human experiences.
I fucking bawled. And that was holding back. I could have shrieked and sobbed even harder.
It was touching to me for more reasons than the obvious having been with my dad a year and a half ago before and during his death. The place that storytelling holds in our lives is something I've been struggling to keep from sliding off the map. I think about it a lot. About the stories my dad, grandpa, and grandma told that I never committed to memory. About the personal nature of history and our lack of awareness of it in most of our lives. About subjectivity.
I struggle too with faith and practicality. Watching this movie restored some of my faith by reminding me how dying is a common experience. Not just that everybody dies, but that people who get to linger long enough in the process have common experiences while they are dying. Watching this movie I couldn't believe how many incredible reflections of my own dad's death I saw. A lot of it was in the "created" story of the son being told to his dying father -- it was so TRUE though.
I remember a long time before my dad died, before he went into the hospital and was intubated, I dreamt he was dying. I carried him him in my arms (the same way the son carries the father in the movie) outside of my aunt's house (where he would eventually live after being intubated, but I didn't know that yet) to the backyard by the river. I remember another dream I had WHILE he was in the hospital, full of inconsequential and bizarre little details. He was in the hospital in intensive care (just as he was) and in my dream the room was exactly as it really appeared. Except we did something really strange that I wouldn't normally think you'd do when a person is all hooked up to stuff -- we spun the bed around 90 degrees so he could look out the window. It was such a clear dream I made a mental note of it. Lo and behold, not long after I had that dream (a day or two) it was hailing or snowing or something and the nurse came in and spun his fucking bed around 90 degrees to face him outside. It's a small tiny psychic moment, but completely inexplicable. Okay, that doesn't have anything to do with the movie, but it does have something to do with keeping magic in my belief system.
While my dad was in the hospice in the days before he died, he talked a lot about the car that was coming to pick him up. When was it going to get there? Where was it going to take him? He'd ask this stuff and sometimes he'd see it RIGHT THERE, he'd point. I don't think it was just the morphine because he'd BEEN on morphine before and talked bullshit before and he was SUPPOSED to die before but all this was new. He knew he was supposed to be getting ready for it . . . once he needed us to push him around in his wheelchair -- we had to go plant flowers outside. It was VITAL that the pretty flowers get planted. So we wheeled his skinny hallucinating ass around the hospice grounds and pretended to plant the flowers where he would point. Later his twin sister came to visit and he saw their dead mom at the foot of the bed. He was talking to her and wanted me to take a picture of him and his sister for my grandma. So I got the "camera" and pointed it at them as they embraced and smiled, and captured that moment forever. There was no camera, but it freaked my aunt out -- made daddy happy though.
The night before my dad died he was seeing people in his dreams. My sister and I were awake, watching his face while he dreamt (or whatever was happening). His mouth would BURST into the biggest toothless grins, happier than I'd ever seen him. And then the smile would melt as they seemed to be informing him he'd be leaving people behind too. Anyway, leading up to his death there were a lot of preparations being made and visitations that we couldn't see with our own eyes, except reflected in his. Watching the movie tonight with it's big send-off reminded me of Daddy getting ready for the vehicle. I don't know if he saw it at the end or not. Those moments were pretty fucking hard for me and he didn't have a big-ass smile on his face so . . . who knows.
Thursday, December 18, 2003
Last night I dreamt I was singing.
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Sunday, November 09, 2003
I didn't see the lunar eclipse, but last night Tucker
and I took a walk with Nico on the beach at Fort Worden in the moonlight. It was only about 7:30 or eight at night, but it felt like midnight. Then Tucker took us on a ride in the moonlight. There's something about the way fences, and barn-roofs, and tree branches seem painted with phosphorescence from the moonlight and the headlights. I felt so safe and at peace as we wound along a narrow road through the woods. Just us and a yellow line and trees creating a tunnel around us with the moonlight flickering through treetops.
Then last night I had a really sad and insecure dream that is just too embarrassing to recount completely, but the weird part is that Tucker had a dream with the same setting, and some of the same elements. We were at a porn convention of some kind in both of our dreams. Each of us couldn't find the other. Yup. Coincidence?
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Reading Material: American Psycho
by Brett Easton Ellis
by Upton Sinclair
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
Over the past few months I've been having more flying dreams. Even though flight in my dreams almost always happens in response to threats to my life, I'm still so happy to be having these flying dreams. For one thing, flight is one of the biggest tip-offs to my dreaming mind that I'm dreaming . . . lucidity follows, and the flying is beautiful.
Last night's flying dream was set in an urban-gothic landscape. Fantastic tall but crumbling Gotham-esque buildings. Something about a seedy skin-trade . . . Saving strippers from the hands of a prostitution ring? I don't remember the specific story line, but at the point when things seemed most perilous when the bad guys were going to shoot me/us or crush my kneecaps by driving a car into a cement wall with me in between car and said wall . . . while the two slutty girls were shaking in their shoes . . . I became supercharged and realized not only that I could escape but that I was dreaming and could do whatever I wanted. I stepped up onto the guard rail of the parking garage and looked down from one of the highest skyscrapers in the dark foggy city . . . looked down down down on the tiny little up skyscrapers below me (this was a very very very very tall building we're talking about here, you know, looking doooooooooooown as it was on tall-in-their-own-right skyscrapers) . . . and I jumped smiling into the mist of the steamy city center's sky and I flew . . . did somersaults in the sky . . . wondered if I'd ever eventually hit the ground . . . but I never did. I just kept on flying.
A while back I also had a semi-Harry Potter flying dream. I was chasing or in the company of an evil female Slytherin -- lots of broomstick flying around foggy craggy coastlines. My broomstick wasn't very reliable though.
Sunday, November 02, 2003
LITTLE PIECES OF TODAY
I was going to go to church this morning but our bed is so warm, the room so dark, the sun so late to rise, and my dreams (of my dead dad and grandpa) so uninterruptable that I slept right through the first service. I woke up to discover Tucker
had decided to take the day off (a rarity), had already built a fire in the woodstove, and was in possession of an erection which I ultimately deflated with my mouth.
Instead of quickly readying myself to make it on time to the second church service, I decided to take it slow and enjoy the breakfast Tucker fixed. Then we took the dog on a walk in the woods (poor baby hasn't had a long walk in weeks). Whenever I am in an evergreen forest, with green ferns and cushioned ground sprinkled with needles . . . I just feel that I am home. The temperature at noon today was perfect for a slightly bundled-up walk -- cool and damp. Breathing in through my nose was like drinking a cool vapour tea in through my nostrils. Intoxicating. Otherworldly.
It amazes me how many experiences there are to be had on earth that are best described as "otherwordly". Goes to show how out of tune most of us are with our world when the most natural of experiences feel like alien luxuries. Simply breathing is often like astral fucking projection.
We also watched Roger and Me
again today, this time with Michael Moore's commentary turned on. Aside: Both Kristy's BeerCanMan and Tucker have now met Michael Moore. Tucker met him back in his college days while he was working at a restauraunt at Michael Moore came in and ordered a sub. BeerCanMan just met him while we were in Vancouver. While the rest of us were attending a seminar that wasn't even happening, BeerCanMan was leaving the Dude Where's My Country book signing at Chapters because it looked too hectic. He went to a pub instead and guess who was sitting a couple seats away from him? Michael fucking Moore. So BeerCanMan got to have an exclusive tete-a-tete with the man himself while he too escaped the maddening Canadian crowd.
In other "exciting" news more internet options are becoming available to us here . . . including the dreaded msn dsl dealy that I had before with the horrid customer service. I am having so many problems with my current provider continually going down (multiple times a day which is NOT handy with what are supposed to be 24-7 live voyeur cams) and need to do SOMETHING soon but am nervous about going with a giant piece of corporate shit.
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Friday, September 12, 2003
I'd hate for my last entry to be the first thing a new visitor would read (or probably NOT read) so here's something different:
and I woke up and fucked at dawn (I had a splendidly subtle orgasm in mostly missionary position), I eventually went back to sleep.
Elevators. The bottom floor of an office building. Then wandering around what was supposed to be Detroit by myself. Without shoes? Crossing busy streets. Bad part of town. I'm sleepy and hungry (and apparently shoeless). Carnival tents. Like makeshift homeless shelters and peepshows. I need to lay down and get some sleep.
I don't know how it morphed into this, but scary get-you-and-kill-you dragons and machines popping out of . . . elevator doors? . . . at the same rate as if it was a carnival game with those moles that pop their heads up and you pound them with a hammer. But they were coming out of . . . elevator doors? We had to escape (suddenly I was with another woman -- I think it was Jessica Lange) so we took each others' hands and ran/glided over fields . . . over a sea, skimming the water with our feet . . . heading towards the sunset/sunrise . . . the horizon was flat and the grass and sea were very green and rich in contrast to the orange/peach sunset/sunrise. At some point during this journey or maybe even before it I became semi-lucid.
We finally grew very tired and had to stop -- we arrived in the back yard of a sort of farm and Jessica Lange was now a woman I know in real life. We chose a sort of outhouse or outbuilding to hole up in, hoping the owners of the farm wouldn't catch us. I was very hungry and didn't know if I could sleep without eating first. One of the walls of the outhouse/building was curiously absent so if the farmhouse people stepped outside, they'd see us huddled on the floor of their building. At this point it didn't matter to me because a) I knew it was a dream and b) I was now in possession of a short stubby vibrating tube of lipgloss, the kind with a roll-on applicator. The lip gloss was a thick gooey fake cherry or strawberry color and flavor. I rolled it over and around on my clit while huddled next to my companion. The lip gloss juice pulsed out of the tube as I rolled it around and made my pussy extra gooey, red, and obscene. The farmhouse woman was watching me too. I was embarrassed but reminded myself I was dreaming and kept using the lip gloss vibrator until I came.
Thursday, August 21, 2003
DREAMS ABOUT FRIENDS I'VE FOUGHT WITH
In the past couple of days I've had dreams about the web women I wound up in fights with.
One of them was about Kayla
-- I don't remember the specifics of the dream but we were naked and my head was cradled between her big boobs and we weren't "enemies" anymore. God how fucking embarrassing. I guess it just goes to show that human beings really do want to get along with each other and to be on the outs is uncomfortable. It seems that our old enmity is melting away in real life too which is a relief. It's interesting that my dream of her happened to be on the night before her birthday.
Lately my position on Kayla became more sympathetic after a bunch of idiotic webmasters jumped on her back for being "unprofessional" at an internet porn convention party. Hey, I could think of plenty of reasons to bitch out Kayla but that's sure as fuck not one of them. I get so sick of the puritanical preachy fucks in this industry. I have always given Kayla credit for doing "extreme" stuff that *she* likes to do (pissing, being pissed on, etc.) and not hiding the fact that she finds other stuff (like facials) personally revolting. So if she pissed in a cup at a porn convention party and some people thought that was "unprofessional" I'd have to say those sanctimonious fucks are in the wrong fucking profession. I think people are retarded who cannot see that standards of "professionalism" need to be industry-appropriate. In the context of a porn convention PARTY (not a seminar mind you, a PARTY) pissing in a cup while onlookers take pictures IS professional. It's like handing out a business card if you're a webwhore. Those who would criticize such an action are just as dumb as people who would suggest that an auto mechanic wearing greasy coveralls is unprofessional for not wearing a three piece suit on the job. They *did* have a point though about some of the pee getting on the carpet and possibly causing damage but really . . . anyplace where there is partying going on, drinks will be spilled, piss will be dripped . . . come on. If she were breaking beer bottles and busting out light fixtures they could complain. A couple driblets of peepee? BFD.
So my other dream last night was about MissFuzzyBunny
and her latex. Even though we don't talk anymore, I still love reading her journal
, checking out her site, blah blah blah. I must have been very affected by watching her most recent video with a new red catsuit, because in my dream she was dressing me in it and I felt like a very loved apprentice to her. You should check out this interview
of her -- you'll quickly understand (if you do not already understand) how one can idolize her style and intelligence. Again, the timing of the dream is interesting since I hadn't yet read this interview and gotten the warm fuzzies of acknowledgement from it. I don't know, it's sort of romantic not talking TO each other, but talking ABOUT each other every so often. I kind of like it. Of course, she did make a rather negative reference to other SpyOnYou performers having indiscriminate sex to improve their viewership but I'll pretend that she wasn't talking about me since I was having indiscriminate sex long before I ever appeared on SOY.
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Wednesday, August 20, 2003
ANOTHER QUICK ONE
I seem to only be finding blogging time when I'm either too sleepy at night to really concentrate, or have just woken up and can't remember a damn thing besides fleeting images from the previous night's dreams (one of my stepbrother's was my carefully guarded boyfriend, a suspension bridge leading to a steep climb on a high bald ridge, and something about the end of the world . . . something or someone or everything was being tamped down into the barrel of a gun errrr . . . damn I can't wrap my head around it).
aka houseboy and I are becoming increasingly proficient with photo/video shoots. Too bad the past couple shoots I've done of him have turned out a bit blueish -- our new curtains are providing us with fascinating new opportunities for interesting lighting, but it's lighting that I'm not used to working with in all of my amateur glory.
Here's a pic Tucker took of me yesterday:
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Monday, July 07, 2003
I set my chat schedule for the week -- ah yes -- the return of dork dancing on Wednesday!
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Last night houseboy made yummy crabcakes and corn on the cob. Later we did "it" in the new ballroom after eating nectarines and drinking sweet hot creamy ginger-peach tea. Then I dreamt about some sort of space travel, but it wasn't very fun . . . it was just like I had a more complex travel itinerary.
Friday, May 30, 2003
WHEREVER YOU CAN FIND ME
Here are a couple new places I'm writing distractedly:
Not Your Average WebWhore
Port of Call
(my online place-focused blog).
I am DYING to find time to learn more about making beautiful graphics in photoshop, using cascading style sheets on my webpages, etc. Tooooooooo much stuff. But I'd rather feel excited about TOO many things than not feeling excited about anything at all. I just wish that I could do it all right now . . . right away.
I'm trying to work harder on dream incubation. I am so sick of anxiety-riddled dreams. If I'm going to have anxiety-riddled dreams, I at least want them to be set on a luxurious old-fashioned train. So that's my new focus -- dreams about train travel. I'd love to blog on about this . . . but I need to shut my eyes for a bit before showercam & chat.
I have severe pms and believe my period may start any second now.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
I'm having a lot of dead-family-members dreams. Maybe because the one-year anniversary of my dad's death is coming up on June 5th? They're the kind of dreams that involve sobbing, weeping, and gnashing of teeth. Last night it was my sister who died (this is just about the worst possible nightmare). I went to a church who had some mystical ritualistic way of getting back together with your dead loved one. Something about me burying her a certain way, and then burying myself too.
Here's a repost of a pic of my dad that my mom had the funeral home include on their website:
I thought it was cool of them and her to say "fuck" propriety. Speaking of funerals, death & propriety, Houseboy and I have been watching the first season of Six Feet Under
. I LOVE it. They've done an amazing job of telling stories with sympathy from multiple competing perspectives. Families dealing with death & stress are fucking fascinating. Anyway, maybe this is why I'm having the death dreams. Watching the pilot and first few episodes freshened up a lot of difficult memories.
I feel really tired. I want to sleep and NOT dream. I'm sick of it. I feel like getting some pills that will knock me out for a couple of days. But I know that I'd probably feel better & sleep better if I just exercised more. I have the worst time balancing all-the-things-that-need-to-be-done.
I've also been having a few cat nightmares too. It used to be all my savage animal dreams revolved around dogs and/or lions (sometimes alligators, crocodiles, dolphins, and other seafaring animals). In the cat dreams the kitties are so sweet. The sweet nightmare cat curls up around my shoulders, neck, or arms. I pet it but am hyperaware of my cat allergies and know soon I will suffer for its presence. Then when I try to gently remove the cat it digs its claws and/or teeth into my skin. The cat won't let go of me. I try to rip its grip off/out of my skin but it's clinging and firmly embedded tooth & claw into my skin. Mildly put, this is not pleasant experience.
Saturday, May 10, 2003
ASLEEP IN THE SUNSHINE
After my webwhoring stint earlier today I went out onto the back porch intending to write. Sky was blue -- sun was warm . . . but the breeze was a tiny bit chilly so I brought lots of blankets out and the sleeping bag and two poofy pillows to lean against. MMmmm. . . it was so nice I thought I'd have some Ben & Jerry's Half Baked with my afternoon. And that was so nice and my thoughts were so impacted and unable to come out coherently in written form that I . . . well I laid down. I laid down in the soft nest of slippery sleeping bag, cushy pillows, and sunwarmed blankets. I laid down and smiled when I shut my eyes under the blue sky, listening to the neighbor's windchimes and tree leaves rustling in the wind. I slept and can't remember what I dreamt about . . . only that whenever I woke up I had no idea where I was, only that I felt safe and peaceful. I swear, I could have fucking been floating on a heavenly cloud -- you know when you're a little kid in an airplane for the first time and you see the tops of clouds and sunshine pouring all over them and think, "mmmm . . . that's heaven, sleeping on puffy clouds under sunshine." I felt exactly like that today, waking up pleasantly disoriented warm and cozy and safe outside. Without the normal atmosphere of cables and computers the porch could have been completely disconnected from the house. I may as well have been on a raft floating in a dense sea of unmowed grass in the middle of the summerlands. I could have been anywhere. I wasn't anywhere I was just safely at rest.
If there is any bright side to my hysteria over the past couple days it was shining on me today. Leaving behind worry and drifting free of it today was like being elevated out of a canyon of sadness. One of the most blissful components of being a moody person is that with deeper valleys you experience higher peaks.
Listening to a friend who's involved in a twelve step program makes me long for more focused spiritual . . . errr focus. But without the words. I don't feel comfortable or fair using contemporary Christian lingo. That's part of what I love about being Lutheran . . . they are pretty shy and restrained about using dramatic words in an everyday way. For me even attempting to verbalize certain things and ideas is . . . belittling somehow.
People have reached out to me in sweet ways over the past couple of days and I've been reminded how much God is in our connections to each other.
There's my random dailiness.
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Saturday, April 26, 2003
I've spent most of the past twelve hours engaged in thoughtful torment over this site (SERIOUS WARNING: FOR 99.9% OF THE POPULATION THIS SITE IS SERIOUSLY DISTURBING), Meatholes.com, which is being discussed on a bunch of porn-related webmaster boards. I am not going to rehash my feelings & conclusions about it right now -- done enough of that on the boards. Need to stop thinking about it. But after all the hubbub on the boards and numerous complaints to their payment processor, the webmaster's account has been terminated and he can't accept payments on ANY of his sites.
My sister and her boyfriend spent the night last night -- we all wound staying up talking and laughing instead of watching a movie. That was pretty fun and refreshing.
I really need to get this meathole thing out of my head. Last night I dreamt I was in a rundown Russian apartment complex being hunted down by the Irish Think Tank who was trying to rape me or kill me or both. The sky was grey and the walls were light yellow.
I need to try to do some webwhoring but I think I probably won't make it.
Monday, October 28, 2002
LET'S SEE WHAT ROLLS OFF MY FINGERS
I'm not having enough time to write & reflect still . . . but want to post a quick entry here for you to know I'm alive and kicking. So here are a few random offerings:
I missed my houseboy so much while I was in Boston it took me by surprise. My pussy missed him too . . . I couldn't believe how much a week without fucking tightened up my taint/perineum so that when I returned and had his big schlong back inside me it put quite a strain on the skin at 6:00 under my hole. That's where I used to always get little tears when I was less sexually active.
I was also unpleasantly constipated while in Boston. All I could eek out were small poop nuggets. What a relief to get back home and take hefty dumps!! I'm not sure why this happened while on the east coast -- it certainly wasn't a nervousness about being in a new environment with new people; FuzzyBunny
were refreshingly comfortable with bodily functions. Ahhh -- they are just the kind of people I love being around!
Speaking of bodily functions, the honeymoon period of houseboy's and my cohabitation is over -- I am a bleeding, farting, shitting, phlegm-spewing, belching, disgusting MESS right now with a cold and my period. Last night I didn't feel like wearing underwear and just hoped I wouldn't be flowing heavily so I could sleep unfettered by panties and unplugged by tampon. Houseboy woke me up in the middle of the night saying, "you just smeared blood all over my ass" (or words to that effect). As it turned out he must have just been having a nightmare about my body fluids, because my vulva was bloodless (it's pretty cool, I don't bleed while I'm sleeping anymore except for the first couple nights of my period).
I was glad he woke me up because I was having a nightmare where I, my sister, and my two stepbrothers were in a tiny chartered plane heading straight for a building (I think my oldest stepbrother, the one who molested us, was a terrorist). My sister was disgusted with us because we didn't know anything about the engineering and design of the building and she was very haughty and snobby -- very concerned that we all had "bad form". Nothing we did was good form. We were an embarrassment to her. Then we crashed into the building and it crinkled just up to the point where we were sitting. All that happened inside the building was a shelf full of a lady's snack crackers got shaken and disturbed, sending crunched crackers everywhere. My sister was still ranting about "bad form".
No, we have not yet done anything to confront my sister in law about our stepbrother's past abuse. God I just want to push that OUT of my mind.
Monday, September 02, 2002
Last night I dreamt that someone was trying to encourage me to enter a different line of work. He was telling me I could be so much more, had so many opportunities. And I felt so solidly sure
that I am on the right track now
as a webwhore. I felt completely secure that I am in the right profession and on the path I'm meant to be traveling. I know that it will lead to other work I'm meant to do. It was a very reassuring dream, my subconscious assuring me that I am headed in the right direction.
Interesting coincidence having this dream on Labor Day. The dream was like a divine blessing or the hand of God buoying me up at a time when normally I would feel doubtful and tired (yesterday I worked so fucking hard on my site that I'm going cross-eyed and my neck & body are fucking killing me from sitting in front of the computer all day -- normally this would make me toss my hands up in the air and want to scream, "I give up!" but instead I feel proud of myself even though I am so far from having even 25% of my webwhore to-do list crossed off).
I also dreamt that I saw people paragliding in tandem -- a man in a fluttering red cape was taking people up in the sky. I watched him drop and kill someone who slid out of his harness. Then I went for a ride with red cape man on the hanglider and can you believe it, I wasn't scared? At some point I was alone, gently gliding then smoothly dropping myself onto a wet sandy beach.
Normally my dreams are so anxiety-filled . . . it's amazing that I had at least two positive feeling dreams. Sure there was death, destruction, mayhem, and threatening male characters during my other dreams last night but these two positives stand out in my head.
DEBT-FREE LIVING IS SELFISH
I have come to the conclusion that people who save their money and count all their pennies and budget everything are almost always less generous than the rest of us . . . they may be smart, but I don't think they're contributing as much to their community and fellow man as those of us who go ahead and freely rack up debt. Frankly I think that spending money (even if you don't really have it right at the moment) is important. I think it's important to pay someone to wash and detail your car. I think it's important to pay someone style your hair. I think it's important to pay someone to change your oil. I think it's important to buy something beautiful from a craftsperson. I think it's important to pay someone to lovingly prepare your food. I think it's important to pay for therapeutic touch and healing. FUCK saving money by doing everything yourself to yourself for yourself at home. FUCK THAT!!
I think it's important to remember that even if you're giving money in exchange for a product or service, still your money is feeding, clothing, and sheltering other people. WAY TO GO! Be thoughtful about who you give your money to, but keep giving it.
On that note I want to thank everybody who has generously contributed to feeding, clothing, and sheltering me with love, support, fascination, curiosity, criticism, and open-mindedness. Thank you for being part of the exchange. We need to share and trade to preserve each other and ourselves. Sex workers and their benefactors are one of the most vital examples of how commerce can be an extremely intimate way that we preserve each other's humanity and protect each other's survival while acknowledging how extremely vulnerable and needy we are.
I feel extremely blessed and fortunate to be an independent sex worker. My life is so much richer . . . full of more sound, more texture, more thought, more care, more spirit, more creativity, more empathy, more communication, more potential, more well-roundedness, more challenges, more learning, more freedom, more integrity, more beauty and more vitality than any other job I've ever had or can imagine having. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has contributed to my continuance in this profession.
Monday, August 12, 2002
So last night houseboy came over (yes thank you, I needed that). We fell asleep watching Baraka and I wound up having a bunch of crazy dreams. The one standing out is that I was pregnant and in labor . . . I figured one anti-inflammatory would be enough to control the pain but I didn't even need to worry about it because in no time the gooey baby came out of me. There she was, laying on the floor (I was laying on the floor too) on her side with her face towards me . . . and she was smiling and laughing. I knew that my baby was special and extra smart. Soon she was saying words. She went on (in very short order) to become a teenage humanitarian. She and I were walking around a homeless shelter or insane asylum or something and she was liberating the people by giving them hose-down showers. Someone told her to stop, it was against the law . . . but she charged back with a brilliant remark (so brilliant I can't remember how she worded it) about how the laws weren't serving and protecting if cleanliness was against regulations but there were no laws against beatings and work parties. I was so proud of her.
All in all, an embarrassingly pleasant dream. I'm not prone to having pleasant-feeling dreams . . . I wish when I had them they wouldn't be about things that I try to not want in real life.
Well there you have it. Guess that would explain a lot about why I would be having said dreams. I'm just glad I didn't have any nightmares about the fluffy yellow chickies being thrown down the chicken farm funnel like in Baraka.
Friday, August 09, 2002
DAILY, MUNDANE . . . AND BRIEF
Since someone just voted in my poll to hear more about my daily life I am making a quickie "log" type entry.
Yesterday I was going to have a six hour liquid diet and spend all those hours in front of the cam, peeing over and over again. But instead I shave that down to two hours because I really wanted to go to the Farmers Market (which I did). I still dazzled and disgusted viewers with a potty-cam show (where I go pee in a bowl in front of the cam for all the voyeurs to see). Then I made the trek away from the cams to go see my houseboy -- he had chicken parmesian (am I spelling that correctly?) ready for us. We did talking, laughing, eating . . . fucking. Then I had nightmares that I got pregnant. Probably because we use the withdrawal method and I am at the danger time so that wasn't particularly bright considering the large amounts of pre-cum he generates. This morning I went to get my emissions tested and failed. This wasn't a big surprise to me, but it was *SO CLOSE* I know that if the silly girls hadn't mistakenly entered "automatic" in the computer instead of "manual" I would have passed because my car wouldn't have been idling all those extra minutes while they got an authority figure to void out that test. Then I consoled myself by eating breakfast at my favorite breakfast food chain, Mitzel's. Then I went to buy a new Intel PC cam pro . . . but they STOPPED MAKING THEM!!! Grrrr. But I did manage to buy a new pc microphone (usb, not the other kind) and usb extension cord so I don't have this very-boring-to-read-about-problem anymore with the audio on my voyeurcams. Then I came home and did a news flash session (always fun) and am now supposed to be writing in my fantasy journal and reading the fruits of my labour aloud to my voyeurs -- but instead I'm sitting her blogging about the boring and the bland . . . and feeling really really really sleepy. So I'm going to go and entertain the viewers with an *exciting* nap. I'm sure that will delight them (not).
I need more energy.
Friday, August 02, 2002
It's not unusual for me to have nightmares involving attackers, maniacs, fights to the death, and all manner of threats to my personal safety. I often endure vivid realistic nightmare experiences of being beaten, strangled, stabbed, etc. Many times I'm aware it's a dream but there's nothing I can do to escape it (believe me, I've tried every lucid dream technique in the book). I sometimes have to force myself to stab, shoot, beat the attacker/pursuer (which is almost as traumatic as having it happen to me . . . nightmare people are so hard to kill. . . maybe regular people are too, I don't know).
Often the scariest parts are when I look into the bad guy's eyes and realize that he's completely crazy and there's nothing I can do to reason with him. Unless someone rescues me, I am DOOMED. This is a big departure from the dreams I had as a small child where I would be kidnapped by a couple but able to talk them through their issues and convince them to do the right thing and let me go. I don't know how old I was when I had those dreams but I was *successful*. Bizarre.
Anyway, last night I dreamt that The Irish Think Tank was stalking me and intent on punishing me for some perceived wrong (I'm afraid in real life that he'll get evicted or something and find a way in his sick head to think it's *my* fault since I have talked to his landlord Tom about him). He tries setting me up for another one of his famous "meet-Brianna-who-never-materializes" dinners. He is stalking me everywhere. Looking in his eyes he's completely in his own crazed irrational world. My mom is trying to rescue me. But he's going to kill her too. Then I'm in my apartment and he's right outside the door. He's turning the knob and the same time I'm trying to lock it. He's on the floor breathing under the door. He's unlocking the door while I'm struggling to lock it and that lock vs. unlock struggle goes on for a horrible suspenseful eternity. But I got woken up last night at this point. I woke up at 3:46 am to the sound of something dragging on the sidewalk outside my open kitchen window. Right away I knew it had to be the Irish Think Tank outside for real, dragging one of the recycling bins up to my window so he could get on it and climb into my window and get me. I fucking jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen and looked out . . .
It was just people getting out of their car they'd just parked under my window. There's no Irish Think Tank. There's no garbage can or recycling bin being dragged anywhere.
My heart was going a mile a minute, legs quivering, shaking . . . and I could have just calmed down and gone back to sleep but instead I almost threw up then felt so disturbed and unhappy and mentally invaded that I just cried.
I feel resentful and angry . . . this is no way to live!! Even if it's all in my head, I feel so . . . disrupted. I have other things to enjoy (and be afraid of) in my life without THIS.
Speaking of other things I'm afraid of . . . I have a feeling of impending doom with the houseboy. That a big let-down is coming. And that regardless of his feelings, whatever they may be . . . I've reached a level of insurmountable cowardice, fear, lack of faith and hyperawareness of everything that is NOT in favor of developing a happy full intimate relationship.
I feel like I'm on such shaky ground and that my moments of comfort and joy, although they're brighter than anything else during those moments, are laying on a foundation of emptiness and insecurity. I feel like my perfect apartment . . . my perfect view outside . . . is not going to be around for long because I want to escape the Irish Think Tank's threatening nearness. I feel like the more I build certainty of my own feelings for my houseboy and the more energy I want to put into sharing with him, the closer I get to losing him.
I think about my dad dying . . . watching it happen. I did not feel the hand of God. Those minutes when he wound down and stopped breathing . . . those quiet life sucking drying up hardening yellowing moments . . . they were empty. I was not sure of the light the nurse told him to go towards. I did not see him sure of it either. I did not see him become more peaceful. I did not see him at peace.
I just saw him die. I just saw him suspended for a few moments of in between flowing blood and petrifying. I really just don't know. I just saw him finish and I don't think he really was okay with it . . . I think he just finally couldn't breathe anymore and started to stop. I don't think it was a relief to him. I don't think it was a comfort. I didn't see any of that when he died. He just ended. Like a book you finish and you can't believe it ended THAT way . . . that can't really be the ending . . . they couldn't have left me hanging like that . . . I feel like if anything, he was turning those last blank pages at the end of the book . . . searching for words to wrap it up, an epilogue of some sort . . . but the pages are just blank.
I cannot be reassured. But I can love the bright patches. I decided (without any hesitation) that I am NOT using my part of the life insurance money to just do practical things like making a small dent in my huge debt. FUCK THAT. I am spending some of that money with joy and generosity the way my dad would have done. I'm getting some stuff that I'll always have around to remind me of how he always wanted to be able to give us more and more. I am going to window shop and buy pretty things the way he loved to do. I did order a flag display case for the flag from his funeral. I want to buy the PBS "Jazz" documentary/series of tapes that my dad and I never did finish watching together. Yesterday I started it . . . took $100 to the Farmer's Market and thought about how Daddy would have given us anything we wanted there. I bought my little sister some pretty little head-hanky things and a silver celtic cross pendant. And I bought myself a big bouquet of flowers from some Laotian people. Daddy knew that buying flowers was a good thing. Spending money on small things that I'll be able to look at in my home feels good to me and makes me feel like I'm honoring him and enjoying his presence and affirming that he provided something for us. I'm making a list of everything pleasurable and worth cherishing that I buy with his money.
Sunday, July 21, 2002
NO TANK PROBLEMS
Just a quick check-in for those of you who've expressed concern about my safety: I haven't heard from the Irish Think Tank since I emailed him to leave me alone. Well, I *did* get a couple of forwarded emails (containing pictures of tanks, not think tanks but Russian tanks) from him but I think that was just an accident. I'm still a little wary that perhaps he will suddenly appear out of the blue and try to pretend he didn't get my email but hopefully he has the good sense to just bow out gracefully.
SHOWERED TO THE SHOULDER
Last night I went to see houseboy. I wish I could escape up there more often for the peace, the quiet . . . and his presence.
Not to mention his penis. I don't know if there are women reading this who can relate to what I'm saying, but sometimes when I recall recent memories of being fucked it's like I suddenly can feel cock plunging into me and my guts feel like they're dizzy. I have a memory now like that of being half on my side, half on my stomach and him behind me/on top of me last night and him fucking me. I remember feeling him make a deep insistent THRUST (memory making my insides feel like they're in an elevator), pulling all the way out . . . and pressing his cock against my ass. Then I felt like I was laying under a sprinkler shooting warm frosting onto my ass, the side of my back, my scapula, my shoulder, my hair . . . and even making raindrop sounds on the mattress next to my face.
Then later with the windows open and the moonlight shining in, we fell asleep . . . and I dreamt that I couldn't stop telling him I loved him even though the truth is I have only said it out loud to him twice when I've been awake.
Sunday, June 16, 2002
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! I was going to try to hurry to do my site update today as fast as possible (the earlier I get it done the earlier I can leave for the houseboy's place) but I could NOT stop thinking about my nasty dream of riding a girl's face and squirting pussy cum all over it. I am not a squirter, but on the rare occasion I do ejaculate (as opposed to the normal act of lubricating) unfortunately it just gushes out (no acrobatic looking fire-hydrant sprays unless I am sitting up then it will project a few inches). Maybe I need to work my muscles more and see what happens to my range? Anyway, I was still so excited about the dream I had to get out my mirror and watch myself masturbating and seeing my box get SO FUCKING WET and gushing that I nearly swooned. I drew out the fun for a good half hour or so . . . watching the ejaculate mix with the pussy juice until it looked like a guy's creamy cum leaking out of me and down my crack. AaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHH!!!!
I still have a hard time letting that go with another person . . . on the first squirt/gush I feel I wind up giggling and tensing up. I know it's stupid but I feel like it's going to gross out whoever's down there. I might have used up all my squirt-fluid for today so will be "safe" with the houseboy tonight. That must be why I have dreams where I can actually enjoy thoroughly juicing up someone's face.
Are you surprised to find out I actually do have inhibitions?
Then I was sorely disappointed to find only seven people were in my voyeur cam chat room. Sure, maybe more were watching without being in the chat . . . but I wanted to have a shitload of messy-pussy-hungry wankers watching my hole squeezing out my salty slutbutter. Sigh.
If you'd like access to my voyeur cam and future episodes of messy pussy rubbing, you're welcome to join my members area.
Pretty much every single night for the past week I've dreamt about my dad . . . that he's not really dead (and it's my fault he was embalmed and buried alive because I told everyone it was over), that we're planning a road trip together, blah blah blah.
Fortunately I had some achingly pleasant sex dreams early this morning (a nice change of pace from the ultra-confusing dead/alive daddy dreams which wake me up in a state of complete disorientation). I can't remember what one of them was, but the second half included me fucking a girl's face and squirting all over it. I am getting way too excited just remembering looking down at and feeling this action. Oh my god!!!
Then the neighbor girl just came over (in real life, not a dream) and had to tempt me with a comment about how she had the strangest dream of being with a woman. If my teeth were brushed and I didn't look like the epitome of sloppiness I would have jumped all over her right then and there . . . instead I just commented on the coincidence and refused to share the details of mine. I wouldn't want to scare her never-been-with-a-girl-in-real-life ears with my messy & aggressive ejaculating pussy dream.
Saturday, May 04, 2002
NOTHING OF SUBSTANCE
I hate that all of my entries lately sound like advertisements. I feel like lately I've been too worked up and exhausted to impart anything of emotional substance.
Random real stuff I've wanted to write about but didn't have the time or energy:
Bad kill-my-stepdad dreams, good dreams, I said love dream, melting-into-someone dreams, gift-giving. The ways I'm a loser and surround myself with them but am sort of proud of it. Things I feel guilty about. Stupid lying men. Crying on cam lost cat skin and bones daddy open windows bad open windows good. Impossible impossible impossible ways every worthwhile intimate connection is sabotaged. Y tu Mama Tambien homophobic audience. Kill the little shit kids.
Oh that's not it at all.
Sunday, February 03, 2002
TRIXIE'S VIEW = SECRET
I just woke up from a nap plagued by horrible slasher film quality nightmares. So I took the pics of my view down. I hate having to keep my blue sky water view a secret from you but it's almost like a road map to my front door . . . which is why I never shared it before. Because it just isn't "safe"
Let me tell you. I HATE the few people who make us (particularly women) unsafe and vulnerable. I hate the few people who make every open door and window a frightening vulnerability. I hate the few people forcing us to keep secrets and defenses that ultimately can be overflown and divebombed by the persistent predator just like a Maginot line. I hate laying in the trenches fearing the personal attacker. I hate knowing that nothing I'm saying is overly paranoid. Do you know how many times I've driven through the town the Green River Killer lived in freely for years up until mere weeks ago?? Do you know that I have laid next to and actually felt love for someone who ended up in jail for breaking into people's houses and touching people while they slept. Women and children. Until they woke up in the dark to the horrifically unexpected invasive presence of him. Do you know what the world would look like . . . how the scenery would change . . . how much more haunted than the south's civil war battlefields our landscape would be if a memorial was planted in every bedroom, hallway, auto, roadside, and sidewalk where someone had been sexually victimized?
Taking the pictures of my view down and knowing that I never should have put them up in the first place is the share-shriveling side effect of caution. I don't want any (more) memorials built with my name on them.
Tuesday, December 04, 2001
FOUR DOWN, 27 TO GO
I've successfully abstained from sex for four whole days. I haven't used my magic wand either.
And except for my mom hugging me today I haven't touched anyone or been touched by anyone at all for the month of December. I don't think I've even gotten a chance to pet anyone's dog.
That sounds really pathetic but actually I haven't been any worse for the wear due to the physical isolation. Not yet, anyway.
"WE GOT HIM"
Last night I dreamed that Paunch called me and informed me in his usual melodramatic mysterious manner, ". . . well, it's over now." I heard the radio news in the background and asked, "you mean . . . you got him?" He paused and affirmed, "we got him."
Apparently Paunch (the chubby law-enforcement love of my lost mind) and his aggressive warrants team brought down Osama bin Laden in my dream. Or that's what Paunch was trying to tell me.
What have I been doing to keep busy? The details are boring. Basically I've been freezing cold (my mom brought me a space heater today though -- I have no control over the temperature in my Bohemian Apartment and during the day the manager must not believe in heating the building because all three of my radiators are stone cold during the daylight and twilight hours). It's been sooooooo close to snowing (and already has a little) here in Tacoma the past week or so. Mostly I have just been laying around like a depressed block of ice . . . I hardly open my mouth to talk except for my daily phone call to MSN freaking out because my stupid start-up package & modem haven't arrived yet. Actually I'm not being fair to myself. I have stayed focused and accomplished quite a few things besides staying completely still and silent for record-breaking periods of time. Today, for example, I managed to apply my feeble mind and finish this form for my members area . Yeah . . . it doesn't look like anything to brag about and I didn't even code it from scratch but . . . it took me a really long time. A really really really stupid long time. It's actually so lame that I can't even show it to you. Mostly because I don't know how to take chunks of it out without ruining the code for all of my posts . . . I do not understand the finer points of these technical things. Which is why it took me hours to do the form in the first place.
A DASH OF EXCITEMENT
It doesn't seem proper to leave this blog entry without some . . . excitement!!!
Thinking . . . . .
I give up. I can't think of anything exciting so I'm going to turn on my cam and pray for a few kinky perverts to come my way and brighten up the boredom.
Tuesday, November 27, 2001
MY DREAM ABOUT JOE
Last week I had a dream about Joe of Instant Enemy
. He was wearing an Adidas warm-up suit and was very busy . . . too busy to meet my infatuated desire for his attention. Huge diamond rings sparkled from every single one of Joe's fingers making him look like a gay white rapper (the rings were all different man-sized stylings of women's engagement/wedding/anniversary rings). I tried to kiss him but he just looked at me disdainfully as though I was just pathetic for trying to get close to him. He obviously outclassed me and was completely disinterested. I woke up feeling sad and rejected.
Monday, October 15, 2001
What's wrong with me? I have recently had a spate of vivid dreams revolving around big hard cocks. One at a time, though. Specifically, my mouth wrapped around penis so long and large that I had a difficult time accomodating. One of them was one of my favorite viewers (one who *rarely* broaches the subject of sex *at all* and I have no idea what his dick looks like) and one of them was an ex-lover (who did in fact have a large unit). They were talking to me during the dreams. And all I wanted to do was just lose myself in sucking and licking them. But I couldn't take enough of them in my mouth. Hmmmm. . . .
Is this a performance anxiety issue? Do I just have an oral fixation? Or am I being deprived and it's showing up in my dreams?
Monday, August 20, 2001
APARTMENT BOY #4??
While talking to Apartment Boy #3 last night about a guy that he works with who creates internet porn games or something like that (and offered to make some for me) I let him know I was afraid to let anyone he knows see my sites because then he might find out what I've written about him here in my journal. AB3 asked, "You write about me? What do you write? Do you use my real name??" I told him I don't use his real name and I'm not going to tell him what I write (didn't I just say I don't want him to read it?). He begged and begged to know his name. I told him I actually had written about giving him a new name. He said he wanted to know his old name if I was going to be giving him a new name anyway.
I should have lied or made something up, but after 15 minutes of his wheedling my compulsion to be honest overrode my better judgement. I felt pretty trashy telling him his name. Apartment Boy #3. Doesn't that make me sound like the professional building whore!?! I know the only reason he didn't start asking a million questions about it is because I impressed upon him how I felt badly about it.
This morning I asked him what he dreamt about last night. He said he dreamt about me. I hoped he was kidding when he told me he dreamt that I told him I never wanted to see him again. I didn't even want to see his face in the hallway. That I met apartment boy #4 and #4 was way better than him.
I don't think he was kidding about this dream though. A couple weeks ago he told me he dreamt that he was dating a blind girl and his family kept telling him that he was ugly and the only reason the girl liked him is because she couldn't see how ugly he is. So last night's #3 vs. #4 dream falls right in line with that low self esteem dream -- he impressed upon me how he frequently has depressing dreams like this so I guess I shouldn't be doubtful that one sprung up where I was the source of rejection.
I told him that he is the only apartment boy I've ever wanted to have spend the whole night with me. It reminded me of a few nights back when he made that "I really enjoy having sex with you" comment and he must have been able to tell that somehow that stung me emotionally because he worriedly asked, "is that okay?" Then he said, "You know what else?" I looked at him and he warned me, "I think you know what's coming . . . . " Naturally I thought this was a preface to the first usage of the "L" word. I fearfully asked, "what??" and he told me, "Last night . . . when you were sleeping . . . . I put myself in your mouth and had a friend take a picture." For those of you who are not fans of South Park that line is taken from Mr. Hankey, an heroic talking piece of poop . . . . it's one of the funniest moments in cartoon history.
Needless to say, that remark broke the emotional tension for the time being.
Is my blog getting overrun with emotional drama? Take it as a compliment that I like you enough to show my tenderoni side.
Tuesday, July 03, 2001
CHAIN LINKED SEX DREAM
A couple weeks ago when I was with Paunch I asked him if he had any weird sex fantasies. Being the wonderfully imaginative and thoughtful person he is, he said, "huh! Uhhh -- no I can't think of any. I'm trying though -- so what about you?" I noticed we were driving by a construction site surrounded by a chain link fence so I told him that I fantasized about myself being on one side of a chain link fence with the guy on the other side and fucking and/or sucking his dick through one of the holes in the fence.
So yesterday on the phone Paunch told me that I must have planted a seed in his head because he had a dream that we were trying to have sex through a fence and were having a hard time getting everything lined up. It kept being too high or too low or not working out and then he found himself tied up and unable to move to the right position . . . we kept getting close but never quite lining it up and getting it in. Every time he thought it was going to work it would get messed up. Then a dog started chasing me around and he couldn't get on the side of the fence I was on to help (he knows I'm scared of dogs in real life).
That reminds me of something: one of the reasons I think I fell so hard for Paunch in the beginning is that I started having dreams about him right away. I *never* dream about people I am involved with (but have heard that other people dream about their partners/lovers all the time) so I thought it *meant* something. For instance, I never dreamt about my husband (a couple of times I might have but it was nothing compared to the frequency with which he would dream about me and the content of his dreams involving me were always very romantic or elaborate things with me as the central figure . . . once he dreamt that I was some kind of Arabian princess or something and he was my harem boy and I had this extremely posh setup which he described to me in detail and he kept serving me and waiting on me blah blah blah). But right away I dreamt about Paunch. And they were dreams that seemed to have a whole bunch of simplicity. I dreamt about him in ways that I've never dreamt about other people. Well maybe I had a dream about Jesus that was sort of like a dream I had about Paunch. Here's what I wrote about that straightforward sappy dream (the one with Paunch, not Jesus) over a year ago, "I even dreamt
about him last night -- so
unprecedented to have a good
dream about someone I'm involved with; in my dream he's standing before me, somewhat larger than life, smiling with that look of endearment, amusement, and calm resignation . . . self-possessed & reassured. He looks so good to me . . . so sexy . . . so worthy . . . so masculinely angelic with the corners of his mouth and wrinkles around his eyes happily easily angled upward . . . and his gaze soft, thoughtful, and somewhat saddened by a humble sort of wisdom. Like a saint with a sense of humour. He's absolutely beautiful to me. In my dream I must be showing him off to my little sister and she enthusiastically agrees with my appraisal . . he *is* so sexy and attractive." In that dream I remember there was nothing else in my line of vision. He was everything that I could see.
Gross as it is and commonplace as it may sound, for me it was an exceptional dream. The only one of it's kind that I've experienced. And I wonder what it is in a person's brain that latches on to one particular person and causes everything about him to leave an indelible impression. I remember exactly what he looked like the first time I saw him. I remember exactly where we were and what I thought and felt when I laid eyes on him. WHY???? Why him? What was it about him that did this? I JUST MET Mr. Clean a few weeks ago and I am wracking my brain trying to remember where we were when we met the first time. I can't remember. It did not leave an impression on me. Ooops -- okay, now that I've wracked my brain enough I remember. It's coming back to me now (at the Poodle Dog Restaurant for Fine Dining the light was behind Mr. Clean as he proceeded down a hallway towards me wearing a big gorgeous grin and his huge frame practically took up the whole doorway at the end of the hall). But anyway . . . it still didn't leave a huge impression on me. The point is, WHY??? What is it about certain people that they fill little places in your brain that seem specifically molded to them? WHY do certain individuals impact us that way? What do they have that is different? What do they do? What do they remind us of? Why do they find a home in our thoughts so easily? AND DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING? Does it mean we should steer clear of them? Or that we should latch on and never let go? It's probably meaningless. Has nothing to do with them. Or fate. Or a divine hand. Or meant-to-be. Just has to do with ourselves. With me me me. With fantasy, delusion and our own little web of experiences, memories, hang-ups, longings, and current life circumstances.
I have pondered these questions so often and come up with so many possibilities. One is the sense of recognition. Seeing someone that somehow is familiar to someone else you have loved (like a father, etc.) or to yourself. With Paunch somehow there was something in his face and demeanor and his eyes that I recognized and related to. And part of my inability to let him go is just an unwillingness to accept the fact that I made a mistake. That I saw something that wasn't really there. Because acknowledging that I didn't know what I was seeing in him would mean I'd have to acknowledge that maybe I don't know myself -- that maybe I don't see myself clearly either.
Can we overcome attractions that are so involuntary or is it destiny that we should be victimized our irrational sense of connection to these jokers that weld themselves to our affections so immediately? Can slow-growth attraction ever be as binding and permanent as first-sight-foolishness?
And is it possible to ever be proud of being putty in someone's hands or is that always a sure sign that you've fallen for a dipshit and are bound to be humiliated and confused by all contact you have with said dumbass?
I did *try* to resist. My brain *told* me, "oh dear lord you don't like this guy you have nothing in common with him he's a cop cop cop stay awaywayway!!!" But he bamboozled me -- everything that came out of his mouth was laughable but still . . . so ardently genuine and sincere sounding. Whatever. Tricky fucker.