My name is Trixie (aka TastyTrixie). The Wandering WebWhore is my personal blog. I'm a 30-something indie pornographer whose journal covers a variety of topics: mundane daily life, work-related reflection, sex stuff, current events, and more.
I went on a google adventure and discovered a guy who loves enormous clits and uses the word "hermaphrodite" to describe women endowed with them. That's his definition of hermaphrodite: women with prominent clits. It was all worth being exposed to his weird-ass opinion, though, because I got to see a photo of Linda Might, "The Queen of Clits", who I'd never heard of before.
Jesus, I'd love to have myself a three-inch clitoris.
Anyway, I can't stop thinking about all of this hermaphrodite bullshit and wishing I could grasp EXACTLY what is so fucked up about these rumours (and people's responses to them) and articulate that fucked-upedness accurately.
I can't stop thinking about being in our local candle store and hearing three people engaged in a discussion about Ann Coulter in which one person "informed" the other two that Coulter was "born a man". Yeah, she's a tranny! The two women gasped, one declared she'd always SUSPECTED as much, the other asked if he was SURE . . . and he WAS. He was SO FUCKING SURE. He insisted it was true. He backed it up with things he'd heard on Air America.
I wanted to interrupt and tell them they were wrong, but went home to check JUST IN CASE. Because there also seems to be something wrong with just ASSUMING those tales are false. Is it a growing acceptance/awareness (or heightened fear/paranoia/continued ignorance) of transgender that fuels these bullshit stories? Is it just a contemporary expression of misogyny / new way to express or justify hatred and disgust of genetic women people find contemptible or disturbingly sexy (ex. Jamie Lee Curtis)? Maybe, but there's a weird ambiguity about the way a lot of people talk about these urban legends, like teenagers who WANT to believe in ghosts. One part wishful thinking, one part pure bullshit, and another part pure fear.
Standing in the store I mostly just listened even though they said some stupid shit that made me want to say, "HEY -- my girlfriend is transsexual; maybe you should watch what kind of moronic crap you let stream out of your mouth in front of strangers." Instead I called the store after I got home and verified that the Ann Coulter as Tranny story IS INDEED a myth, told them WRONG. But that seemed to miss the point, too. Even if she HAD been born with a dick, that doesn't explain her away or make sense of her. That knowledge, if it were true and we could attain it, wouldn't somehow put her in her place the way people seem to want it to.
Oh well. I'm sure more brilliant minds than mine have got this sorted out and published somewhere with a lot of fancy words and complicated double-talk that will never do anything to help make the average American get it. Someday maybe it will all get straightened out, but in the meantime women-who-confuse-us are the new Richard Geres and Rod Stewarts, with bellies full of cow semen and hamsters up the ass. The tabloids have proof that Obama's birth certificate is a fake, and we think if only someone would publish that photo of an infant Ann Coulter sporting a pre-op malignant penis, we could win this argument!.
Last night one of our long-time voyeurs emailed me about how hot Lady Gaga is and how he can't stop watching her Poker Face video and oh yeah, did you know "she has a pussy and a cock"?
No, actually I didn't know that Lady Gaga has a pussy and a cock. And I assumed the guy who told me that had just taking those hideous YouTube comments too seriously (the ones that say "she's a man", "she's a nigger", "she's ugly", "she has no talent" and/or "she's an ugly talentless nigger man"). Note: I don't understand why these record companies WON'T allow you to embed their videos but they'll let any jackass post whatever horrifying, distorted, insulting, ignorant shit they want in comments.
So our fan emailed me back with a recent post on Gawker with a video showing what looks like a flaccid unit between her legs. And apparently she's confirmed the rumors herself. It seems pretty unlikely, but who really knows how many intersex people there are out there? Why would I assume she ISN'T? And on a related note, just because someone looks all-white, doesn't mean they ARE "all" white. Not that I'm defending people hurling racial slurs at someone because that's the worst they can come up with in their unimaginative racist minds to disparage a successful young woman (along with being ugly, being man-like, trannyish, or whatever) -- I'm not defending that, just pointing out that coming back at those slurs with, "nuh-uh! Like, obviously she's TOTALLY WHITE!!" might not be the best response to that stupidity.
Whatever the case may be, I have more interest in her than ever before after watching this video. I assumed it was just a fake weiner/publicity stunt, but she sounds totally serious in this quotation (which I can't help suspecting is fake, too - everyone's quoting it, but no one is citing an original media source):
ďItís not something that Iím ashamed of, just isnít something that I go around telling everyone,Ē she said. ďYes. I have both male and female genitalia, but I consider myself a female. Itís just a little bit of a penis and really doesnít interfere much with my life.
ďThe reason I havenít talked about it is that itís not a big deal to me. Like come on. Itís not like we all go around talking about our vags. I think this is a great opportunity to make other multiple gendered people feel more comfortable with their bodies. Iím sexy, Iím hot. I have both a poon and a peener. Big fucking deal.Ē
Of course, Delia has known all about this forever now, I guess, because she's always surfing the "tranny" boards but it was news to me. Still can't say I love her music, but after this and her most recent performance on American Idol which indicated she DOES actually have musical talent in addition to being a showman, I guess I have a mini-crush . . . and I hope that she is, in fact, a black hermaphrodite so I can celebrate her breaking boundaries for all the other discofried black hermaphrodites waiting in the wings.
I tossed and turned for hours last night and eventually got really aroused so I woke Delia up slowly by playing with her nipples, first over her shirt and then under her shirt. Then I rearranged her arm, spreading it out along my pillow so I could nestle against her and start sucking her tits, moving my hand down to play with her cock (which I eventually sucked too, but just a little because mostly I wanted to fuck her).
Almost every single doorknob in this house is busted or only half-works, including the one to our bedroom. With the windows open in the house all night to keep us cool in the warm weather, our bedroom door gets sucked open and slammed shut. Last night a phantom breeze opened so I let it stay that way even though my mom was asleep in our guestroom down the hall. I knew she wouldn't wake up, but still tried to be quiet. For once it was Delia instead of me who couldn't be quiet. Her boobs are SO sensitive.
Sometimes when I can't make noise during sex it sucks, and other times it allows me to focus even more on the sensations I'm feeling. Like last night when I came. Hard, clamping down. And then made Delia come inside me.
I still couldn't fall asleep so I sort of meditated on the feeling of stickiness where my ass cheeks meet my thighs and smelling my pussy and her semen all mixed together on my fingers. Eventually I turned on my booklight and looked at my fingertips shining from the moisture reflecting the blue light.
We had a really nice visit with my mom who drove all the way out here spontaneously to spend a couple of days with us. It worked out well without any other family here and with the weather nice enough to get out of the house. My mom needs to have activities and I guess so do I when we're together because otherwise all of the chatting winds up getting to me. We tired her out with a long walk and before that I took out an instructional stretch DVD, one that I've given her a copy of along with a yoga mat but that she never uses (I used to call her every day to ask her if she'd done it, but it didn't help her and just seemed to make her feel guilty). I worry about her lack of flexibility because she's getting older, but mostly because I know how much better *I* feel when I spend even a little bit of time stretching on a regular basis. I wanted her to see how easy it is just to do five minutes of it without going all crazy and still get something positive out of it.
Later we got on the subject of Bea Arthur dying and my mom started crying. My mom is now the same age as the characters were on The Golden Girls. She said it seems like it was just yesterday that show was on and now Dorothy and Sophia are dead. She said it made her realize how little time she might have left -- what a small window of opportunity she has. My hypersexed mom even admits that now she sometimes gets sick of her boyfriend wanting to have as much sex as he does.
I don't know if it was because of that in part or in whole, but last night my body felt powerful and I felt younger than I have in a long time. I felt supple and juicy and ripe and full of energy. I felt like my body was tall and everything was in line. My breasts felt big and ripe and heavy and swinging. I felt like an hourglass with the top and the bottom perfectly balanced. I actually felt graceful instead of unwieldy when I climbed on top of Delia. I felt potent and came fast without getting out of breath.
I was still awake later while they were asleep. I crept around the house. I made something to eat in the kitchen. I looked at the moon mostly hidden behind the clouds and a bright planet that must have been Jupiter sparkling to the east of it.
I'm like my mom in a million ways, but unlike her in a million others. Mainly I am just younger than she is. I guess it should be hard to see my mom struggling with her own life changes and not knowing where she's going -- it IS hard -- but I also can't help celebrating, first that she seems more focused on one important thing instead of a million trivial distractions from the one thing and second, celebrating myself and where I am and what I have and all that I still have to look forward to. That my mom has challenges, but she STILL has a lot of opportunity and a lot of growth and good health to enjoy and grapple with (and I have all of that to look forward to also -- but MORE of it). That she is better off than her mom is and was at her age. And that I'm so so SO much better off than either of them were when they were mine. Inside and outside and in every conceivable way. And that makes my life and my body and where and how I'm living them feel like a huge evolving miracle that I have a RESPONSIBILITY to celebrate partially on their behalf, fucking and walking and dancing.
I couldn't resist looking at the beautiful man-body chopping wood next door so I did something I think (I thought?) is really, REALLY wrong: I took sneaky pictures of him without his knowledge or consent. And now I'm doing something even MORE wrong: I'm posting one of them here:
He's not our neighbor, he just delivers and chops wood for our neighbor. And I HAVE to watch him do it, because the guy is incredibly beautiful. Not his face, just his whole old-fashioned working-man's body with that wedge-hourglass shape. The thick pants with the shiny metal details, the gloves, the white tank top, the cap, the scraggly mullet and those pale muscles built up in the shade and from working outside when it's raining, because it rains all the time where he works. He's like an 80's version of the guys in old propaganda posters like these:
I have always been in love with watching men do physical labor. Even though I felt sort of dreadful about it, I was compelled to run and get the camera. I stood in the kitchen and snapped a few pictures where he could have turned around and seen me. But before that happened, I ran into the bedroom and took pictures of him through the crack between two panels in our shoji screen so he couldn't catch me watching him through the magnifying lens of our camera. My desire to capture his image forever outweighed the voice in my head reminding me I was doing something wrong. Something I've seen/heard of other people (men) doing that sickened me, but that memory didn't stop me from doing it myself.
You shouldn't spend time on fetish-oriented forums online if non-consensual voyeuristic photography (and other stuff) bothers you. You'll find out things that you just don't want to know and see things you weren't meant to see. Like pictures of used maxi pads guys steal out of public restrooms or photos a foot fetishist surreptitiously took of his neighbor's niece's bare feet while their family unwittingly enjoyed a barbecue in their driveway. The woman was probably in her twenties and the guy who took and shared the pictures described his sneaky method for capturing them and the type of camera and settings he used and how he managed to not get caught.
The freaky part is the way these people usually don't even acknowledge the line they're crossing, or worse, act like they're ENTITLED to snagging these things that belong to other people. Of course, half the time someone with common sense will challenge these people or point out the err of their ways, but most people don't bother to post any opposition, instead just showing their appreciation for what the voyeur-thief has "created"/salvaged for the members of the board. Or they will critique the spoils, like the guy who complained that the neighbor chick with the bare feet was so fat, how in the world could the spy-photographer possibly think anyone would be interested in seeing her or be aroused by her himself? So not only is this woman with the arched foot and a BBQ rib in her mouth being displayed on the internet without her knowledge or consent, she's ALSO having her weight criticized. AWESOME, right?
I pretend that I'm not quite as bad as these sociopaths because I know what I'm doing is wrong. But I guess that actually makes me worse because I know it's wrong and I'm doing it anyway (and those guys on the forums might know it's wrong too, they just don't waste time making a big show of acting guilty about it the way I am in all of my gross hypocrisy).
I can pretend I'm conducting an experiment or research. That I'm a writer. That the end result of provoking thought about these important issues of privacy, consent, and all SORTS of interesting things is worth the negligible or nonexistent "damage" I'm doing. And after all, it's a really REALLY grey area, right? I mean, how many people would even think me taking and posting the picture of the axe man is wrong if I didn't tell you that *I* think it's (maybe) wrong? And this isn't really a blog entry about that guy, it's about me or the collective us and the image is actually a snapshot of me -- the voyeur -- and my thoughts, not him. It's entirely possible to intellectualize it that way. He could be anybody. You can't see his face. No one will ever know who he is. Probably not, anyway.
And would he care if people DID know? Maybe he'd WANT to be credited and known far and wide as The Woodsman Who Got Trixie Hot. Of course, that brings me back to the obvious trespass of not asking for his permission to photograph him in the first place, but speaking of consequences, *I* certainly don't want to pay them. I don't want *him* to know he was chopping wood next to TASTYTRIXIE and therefore knows about our websites and where I live and can tell everyone how to find me (I'd have to tell him about our sites in order for him to give INFORMED consent, though that disclosure would be out of ethical, not legal obligation; you don't have to specify where or when something will published on a consent form, just that you as the photographer have all rights to the photos which legally you don't REALLY need to do anyway since in our country the photographer automatically owns the photos, not the model). I don't want to tell a big strong stranger with an axe and a cock that he gives me a boner and I want to take pictures of him -- LOTS of pictures. Well, I do sort of want to tell him that, but I know it's not such a good idea/could cause problems. He might be weird or scary or even if he isn't, then our neighbor (a decent neighbor, not our scary neighbor) would know about us and that would make everyone on the block uncomfortable. Most of all us.
If it were my actual neighbor out there making me hot chopping wood, I wouldn't have taken the pictures. Because that would be violating the good neighbor code of pretending each other doesn't exist. And I certainly wouldn't take pictures of his young daughter! Even if it were to record how she trespasses on OUR property, walking just three feet past me sitting in our window. Well, maybe I would (for proof of trespass only!), but I wouldn't post them on the internet. But maybe only because I'm a pornographer and could get in trouble for it just by virtue of that fact.
When I pondered these things aloud to Delia, she doubted my assertion that if it were a woman out there, hanging laundry or washing a car, I totally wouldn't have taken the pictures. She's probably right. After all, I took this picture (without her knowledge/consent) of a hot redhead fishing because she had a really great ass:
It's the kind of picture you can get away with taking in public and even sell prints of in local galleries that don't have any artistic standards. It's the kind of picture no one (except other wankers) would bat an eye at as long as you keep up the appearance of it being completely innocent. Even though I know that I took it purely out of sexual/sensual interest. And I know that any straight man with a camera would have taken it for exactly the same reason (or to prove to himself that he wasn't) whether he would admit it or not, and there are tens of thousands of men with cameras with hobbies or professions doing exactly that. I know a lot of people who take completely g-rated innocent-looking pictures and jack off to them later even if they didn't intend to when they snapped them.
Part of me feels justified in posting this because there are so many writers and artists and reporters and network television stations getting away with doing so much worse with absolutely no compunction. It's only people like me who openly call ourselves pornographers who are recognized for exploiting and objectifying others even though we play be much stricter rules and are faced with much harsher penalties for violating them than any other industry would be. But that train of thought is just another diversion from asking myself how *I* would feel if my neighbor were peeping through a crack in the blinds taking pictures of ME doing yardwork or thinking he's not home when I sunbathe naked on our deck when actually he's hidden behind a tree and rubbing his crotch against its bark. Of course, I'd feel totally different about it if I had a teenage son or daughter being spied on. But the guy chopping wood is clearly an adult. And he wasn't sunbathing naked. And again, I don't think I'd care if my neighbor secretly stood in his kitchen taking pictures of me as I walk around OUR kitchen at night topless (which I do sometimes with the blinds open, not because I'm an exhibitionist but because I just don't care) as long as he didn't hang them in the post office with our address printed on them or something.
Meh. Now that I think about it, I really don't care. As long as someone stays on their own property (not sneaking onto mine or a stranger actually stalking into the neighborhood to spy on us or putting on an obscene display of masturbating and shooting cum into our yard) and is only taking pictures of what I do outside or with the windows open then who cares. It's kind of fucked up, but not a huge deal. It's not like I'm lying in wait every day, conducting surveillance on everything that our neighbors and their visitors do.
After completely overthinking this, I absolve myself from guilt. It's harmless and legal. But I guess if I give myself permission to be an opportunistic voyeur-perv-photographer that means I have to stop being shocked and offended by other people who do the same thing. I'm reluctant to do that.
Here's a couple with a sleeping bag and no picnic basket that I shot entirely because I knew they were setting out to lie down together and *do things*:
If I hadn't admitted that and had posted the picture somewhere else, like on a stock photo site using woman-approved keywords like "young love" and "spring romance" (and cropped out our cracked windshield & wipers giving away that I'm like a dirty old man doing a drive-by) it would probably be perceived in a totally different way. It would just be a bad snapshot. But because of who I am and what my site is and my confession that I'm a voyeuristic pervert who sees sexual potential everywhere, it seems more DIRTY and exploitative than it really is. What if a local television station were doing one of those weather "stories" about how people were still going to the beach even though it's overcast, and those two lovebirds were in the background? Would the station be committing an evil deed? If not, why does it seem so evil when I do it and admit that I see erotic potential? And why would it seem so much grosser and more evil if I were a man instead of a woman?
If you don't watch it, go ahead and barf on my blog and move along. Otherwise, here are a few brief thoughts/feelings on the season so far.
My mom is so right that girls do NOT get a fair shake in these coed television competitions. The voting audience and judges definitely judge girls and boys by totally different standards. The standards the chicks have to live up to are WAY higher. So yeah, it's been pretty shitty but hardly a surprise to us watching Allison be in the bottom three so often and kicked off last week. I loved watching and listening to her sing -- she's the one that if *I* were a music mogul I'd want to make a record.
From the beginning we were rooting for Matt, Allison, and Alexis. Matt's whole piano bar experience and beautiful Elvis cheeks won me over, but when he did that Coldplay song, OMG -- I wrote him off as not having a clue what he's good at and how good at it he is. Still, I felt emotionally attached to him throughout the season and rooted for him to do well. I loved Alexis until she fucked up Jolene (one of my absolute favorite songs). Allison I loved pretty much every week even though I agreed that Cry Baby was a bad choice (and I especially hated her changes and that she smiled as she sang it -- that is my biggest Idol pet peeve aside from the lame hand gestures of pointing and come-hereing and counting on their fingers whenever a number is a song lyric, when these kids SMILE inappropriately during sad/pathetic songs like that boy who grinned as he sang Careless Whisper a while back). It was much better the next night when she was actually crying as she sang it. So sad . . . I really wanted her to win.
I enjoyed all of the contestants this year after a few shows EXCEPT Danny Gokey. I can't understand why he's a favorite with his complete lack of humility. He seems totally insincere and sociopathic to me, but maybe he really is just mourning his wife's death and what I'm reading is just him being shell-shocked. Whatever -- I think he's a total ass. I do think, however, that he was better than Lil who was totally overrated (except when she sang that Fourth of July song everyone ripped her apart for doing - I thought that was the best). Her bowing and scraping drove me apeshit and I do not understand why she didn't get called out more often for being "pitchy".
I even enjoyed the blind guy. A LOT, after awhile. He cracked good jokes and made good choices and I hope he makes a wonderful Christian music album. If forced to buy either a Scott MacIntyre album or a Danny Gokey album, I WOULD RELISH BUYING SCOTT'S INSTEAD.
Kris Allen pleasantly surprised me -- I get pissed when I hear stupid criticisms of him. He's by far the most mature contestant with the most diverse array of talents and widest/deepest music appreciation. I feel like he really understands music and loves every aspect of making it even if he's not the strongest singer. Not that he should win, but I imagine him having the skill to be a long-lasting success in other ways. It seems like he gets the meaning of every word in every song, unlike most American Idol contestants.
Adam? God, I just want to see him on his knees with a big thick cock in his ripe mouth and jizz splashed all over his gorgeous bloated face. And he and his partner both have to be wearing cartoon hair and untied high tops with tight pants. And their thick cocks jutting out like big meat-pink cylinders of gayness. At first I was so not a fan of his Rush-like vocal stylings, but I was won over when he did his Jeff Buckley impression. I'll be happy when he wins.
There you have it. My obnoxious Idol entry for this year. You can laugh if you want to. I do.
Feel free to ask me any urgent Idol questions you have like, "who is your favorite judge?" or "would you rather have sex with Anoop or Sanjaya?"
Call me superficial, but coming home with much-blonder hair meant so much to me - it boosted my mood and ego a billion points. Our hair-chick ratted and teased it to be tall on top because she has a Rock of Love fetish, so to take advantage of it we did a slutty faux-schoolgirl shoot and I was too in love with myself to stop there, so I snagged some webcam shots:
Just the day before this I went to the mall and wandered around by myself while Delia got a laser treatment. I was in my usual comfortable-slob mode wearing a pair of old black sweats that were falling down (the drawstring broke a long time ago so I try to hold it together by wadding the waist up in front and whipping a ponytail-holder around that wad to cinch it up) so it looked like I had shit in my drawers, nerdy silver tennis shoes, and an old-lady baby-blue polar fleece ladies jacket from LL Bean that was a Christmas present from Delia's mom a few years ago. I looked so old and so tired and so washed out and I felt that way, too. Like I should apologize for looking so shitty.
I had that quintessential "she's given up on herself" look. Theoretically I HATE that criticism and don't care what I look like which is part of why I became a webwhore in the first place; since I rarely feel motivated to dress up and be seen, the thought of being paid to do it and have a visual record of the times I did appealed to me. I'd be off the hook and could always point to those pictures as proof that I CAN look good if I WANT to and have already DONE that. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Why do it EVERY DAY? Of course, there's a slight flaw in my logic since we broadcast spycams and most people paying to see them would like me to look sexy on them all of the time, or at least more often than I do, but whatever. I walked around the mall looking from a respectful distance at clothes and makeup and other ways to improve my appearance, feeling like I wasn't worthy or capable of asking to touch anything expensive and beautiful enough to make a significant change.
The point is that I looked blah and yucky and didn't feel good about it at all. No, that's not the point. The POINT is in the contrast between how I felt that day and the next, when I came home with my hair really blonde and stood in front of the mirror and drew outside of the lines of my lips and filled them in with thick, gooey gloss and frosty highlights and brushed on dark eyeshadow and put on fake lashes.
I felt like magic. Like this is why people want to look like porn stars. Because (sometimes?) it feels a lot better than looking like muted, sloppy shit. And it doesn't matter if I just applied a boundary of fakeness between the plain foundation of myself and what people see, because it felt best when I was the only one looking at myself there in the bathroom mirror or taking self-absorbed pictures of myself.
Why am I hiding the plain truth under all of this bullshit self-criticism and analysis? All I'm trying to say is that looking in the mirror and seeing yourself looking like a hot fucking slut feels VASTLY SUPERIOR to slouching around feeling like an unattractive slob. It's inconvenient, but true. No matter how much I wish my protestations that looking good is a waste of my time and money were true, THEY AREN'T.
It's fucking biology that we want people to want to fuck us on sight, that we want people to be jealous of us, that we want people's eyes to light up when they see us, that we want to advertise our fantastic genes (or that we want to look better than our average ones). If you're a woman (who isn't still shattered by one or more people hurting you because you looked like hot sex and they took it from you) some part of you wants people to look at you with desire and appreciation. Even when it annoys me to be gawked at, it charges my fucking battery. It's absolutely electric.
You want to look so good that you can control a man into paying for dinner just to get a whiff of your hair and stare at your cleavage, that you can render him insensible to paying for everything you need to keep looking so good -- to maintain your value and keep commanding higher and higher prices -- shoes that make your feet arch and sparkly jewelry accentuating all your graceful, slender parts and tight pants and shiny hair and fat, pouting lips and pampering spa treatments performed by undemanding female hands that MIGHT just render you pliant enough to be amenable to saying "thank you" with your soft body. It's an expensive art and time-consuming work to always look like a shiny, animated toy cocksucker and I've never mastered it or even kidded myself that I could compete on that level.
The older I get, the rarer and more exciting it is when I get a taste of what it feels like to BE hot sex. Normally I am the one LOOKING at one of the shiny girls, simply appreciating how they glitter from head to toe, putting so much time and money into tanning, waxing, accessorizing, and accentuating every single morsel of their bodies. Hoping that someone admires and respects it enough to make it worth their while, constantly forgetting that there are intrinsic rewards to looking like honey come to life and taking soft female form and maybe that is enough for them.
My head and body have been so fucked up and bloated and distorted off and on for so many years that now, getting it back on track, I'm at an age where I don't take it for granted anymore that tomorrow I could be riding some strange boy's cock and having him looking up at me in complete amazement and disbelief, moaning about how he can't believe he's really fucking me. That might never happen again, which is fine, but it would still be nice to know that it's POSSIBLE even if I don't want to act on it (it actually feels especially powerful knowing I probably won't). How many years do I have left where I'll be ABLE to turn heads in public? You don't have to be a great beauty to make that happen. Do I really want to waste those opportunities playing the invisible slob?
It's disgusting to admit, but when I pass a mirrored column in a mall I want to make myself wet looking at myself. When I walk by a shiny window of a restaurant I want to see my own reflection on top of people who are WATCHING me and not be able to resist smiling, knowing that they are delighted and mesmerized by what they see. ANY woman can manage if she has time and the desire to advertise herself using resources like bleached hair and juicy lip stains and clothes that highlight your best bounce, wiggle or stride. Resources she can extract from men. It's the OTHER circle of life. It might be a totally fucked up stereotype of gender roles, something progressive men and women want to move away from (or better, switch up for fun -- I do fantasize about being a sugar mama to young women and sometimes men), but sometimes I can't help celebrating it and wanting to WIN at it and enjoy the cheap/expensive thrill of it.
Attempting it often feels awkward and unnatural and hardly-worth-it, but when it works the rewards feed some primal need in me that are so close to my core I can't dismiss them as fake or stupid or unhealthy. There is no pretending we can evolve past this.
Note: originally this entry included more reflection and deeper insight on where my conflicted feelings about making myself up to look "sexy" (or at least presentable) in public (and in general) might have come from but it turned into a total downer so maybe I'll save that for another time. I feel like I should apologize for my undying fascination with mulling over these matters and warn you that they don't end here and I can't unwaveringly commit to any one perspective on them.
I'm already totally embarrassed by this post even though the whole point of it is not to be.
After having the worst sales day on Sunday I've ever seen, I changed our Directv package to the cheapest one (that's still not "cheap", but anyway). I also scaled back our Netflix from five discs out to three and got excited about a return to listening to This American Life and music more often. And maybe having the attention span to watch entire movies again -- something we've all but lost in the past couple of years of television immersion.
Some of the cable shows we love best are The First 48, Cold Case Files, Mad Men (swoon), Deadliest Catch, and Intervention -- apparently we aren't alone in being addicted to that show because I got a bunch of tweets in response to my announcement yesterday from people who couldn't stand to give up Intervention.
I first started watching Intervention alone and totally felt guilty and ashamed watching it, like only a sicko would watch an hour of a stranger's family's most private, horrifyingly personal, lowdown moments. I'd record them on our DVR and wait to watch them alone until once when my sister was over she saw it in the list of shows and was like, "oooh! Let's watch Intervention!!" The concept of all of us watching the show together embarrassed me, like it's something you should only watch in private (which of course isn't true).
It's not that I think the show is bad -- I think it's awesome, and since then Delia and I have watched it together many times -- it's just really intense and weird. I do think it's informative (I love that they focus on all kinds of addictions and sicknesses from gambling to OCD to Diabetes to eating disorders) and helps build empathy, but it still feels wrong to watch it for entertainment. But we do, I guess. One person tweeted to me that she thinks that show is depressing with a capital "D". And it's true, that's the embarrassing part -- why would we watch something totally depressing for FUN? I guess there are a million awkward answers to that question.
One of the first Interventions I watched was repeated last night and pissed me off in a giant way. The family seemed more concerned with Cristy's stripping than with her drug use, like the STRIPPING was THE sign she was way out of control (and what a great marketing hook, too!). Whenever I see that crap it disturbs the fuck out of me the way people alienate someone who already feels totally isolated and judged by being TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID about sex work. I'm not saying that the sick women on Intervention would choose sex work if they weren't in desperate situations, I'm just saying that their friends and families are usually so fucking retardedly focused on that part of it that they contribute to the problem and I've never seen that addressed in any healthy way on the show (though some of the families seem to have it in a more rational perspective).
It reminds me of a story I saw about a missing woman, maybe on America's Most Wanted, told mostly from the perspective of her "loving" parents who OVER and OVER said they knew she would NEVER have become a prostitute in Las Vegas of her own volition and that her evil boyfriend HAD to have MADE her do it and caused her to disappear. They said stupid shit over and over again about how they knew their darling daughter would never have chosen this life for herself and how badly they wanted her back so she could be her old innocent self again. Of course she was probably dead so it probably doesn't matter, but all I could think is that if this woman WAS alive and in a bad situation and saw her parents saying that shit, she'd probably rather whither up and accept her current lot than think she could ever live near them and their unaccepting ignorance again. People are so hyperfocused on how degrading they believe sex work always is that they can't fucking think straight, like these parents who seemed unable to recognize that their daughter willingly chose this boyfriend AND sex work in Vegas, and that the real sad and scary thing was that someone -- possibly the boyfriend -- probably killed her for it. Instead they went on tv, rejected her choices (that probably came from wanting to get away from their moronic idealized perception of her) and shat all over her.
This is why I need to stop watching TV. Because this crap HAUNTS me! And I haven't even said anything about the MOST DISTURBING episodes of Intervention and America's Most Wanted! Gah!
If my "porn" were standing before the judges on American Idol, Simon would totally call it self-indulgent nonsense. Like shooting almost entirely non-nude sets of pictures with a ren-fairish flavor just because I REALLY LIKE WEARING LONG VELVET DRESSES AND THIS IS MY FAVORITE NECKLACE AND I LIKE PRANCING AROUND IN THE FOREST!! From my latest members-only update:
Most people don't "get" non-nude or softcore porn, and I do think there's a bigger market for straightforward explicit hardcore sex (and I myself prefer to masturbate to fairly explicit, genital-oriented content, though not the generic kind), but make no mistake . . . there's definitely a market for the soft stuff. I'm not sure, but I'm *guessing* that its appeal diminishes the older the model gets, but I could be wrong. I *hope* I'm wrong. Because I will proceed as though I *am* wrong about that. Because I'm totally a self-indulgent softcore kind of lady. Well, not totally. Which is what makes my site difficult to categorize since I love hardcore stuff, too.
Running a personality site means I'm selling myself -- intimate access to WHO I am -- as much as jack-off material (which is everywhere nowadays for free), but maintaining a balance can be a challenge particularly since the balance other people want to see really varies. There are a lot of people who think the porno stuff is boring and others who think the "self-indulgent" softcore/personally revealing stuff is boring. I don't get that information from my own members (who I guess usually know it's futile/counter-productive to complain about what I do/don't do), but from surfing around and reading the variety of opinions/assumptions on this matter. I gave up on trying to please "everybody" a long time ago, but still feel self-conscious sometimes KNOWING that people will look at some of what I put out there, particularly something they paid for, and will be dissatisfied. Even when you know you can't please everybody, you still feel crappy sometimes that you can't. That you know someone will be distinctly UNhappy because you're older, because you're too nasty, because you're not nasty enough, because you're shaved, because you're hairy, because you're too quiet or not quiet enough. It's a constant challenge to silence that chatter in your head of what other people might be thinking and listen only to what you yourself want and think. But when I do, I hear that I want more cheap, stretchy, crushed-velvet dresses from the thrift store. I want more of the scenery I love that is home to me. I want more cleavage and swooning and vulgar meaty thighs.
I like being suggestive without fully delivering. I wonder how much of that's a (mostly) chick thing -- enjoying having a scene set and characters drawn and then using your own imagination to fill in the blanks to your own liking whereas (most) men want all of the blanks filled in for them in explicit, glossy detail. I have actually been thinking about duplicating and reformatting the way I present some of my softcore picture sets in order to fill in some of those blanks, or ramp up to the nudity in a way that makes it feel more like a money shot once you get to it, but I'm not sure I'll ever have time for that project. I think it would be very effective, though.
Lately I feel a little tempted to stop updating my site as frequently and focus more on marketing Delia's site. Financially, that would make a lot of sense, but I don't want to do that. The fact that Delia's site significantly outsells mine does free me up to think of her site as the bread and butter that allows me to totally fuck around on mine and do whatever I want without worrying that we'll lose our main source of income when I alienate all of my members. Not that this would happen, but the appeal of Delia's site compared to mine does give me a sense of freedom that it's not all about me. It doesn't all rely upon me. That's a huge relief that allows me to end these annoying trains of insecure thought on a positive note and go back to indulging in my own flights of fancy. In the forest! Twirling around in a long dress! Wearing a gypsy necklace with amethysts! And what more do people want than my boobies, anyway?
As a feminist and a sex positive person I probably should DESPISE Twilight, but I don't. I read the book (and only the first one so far) because it takes place near here and I saw the movie because the previews made it look way better than the book . . . I felt compelled by curiosity, local interest, a desire to know more about a pop culture phenom, and because I TOTALLY WANTED TO.
The book? Meh. It was entertaining, mildly annoying from a local's perspective, and mind-boggling since I wouldn't have STOOD for so many pages of overt chastity when I was a tween reader myself in the eighties. A sign of the conservative times, I guess; I am DAMN glad I grew up with Judy Blume's Ralph-named penises and totally taboo rape scenes in Flowers in the Attic.
The movie? LOVED IT. I mean, I seriously fucking LOVED it. The previews drew me in because it looked dark and funny (there wasn't a trace of self-aware humor in the book, so that was an improvement already) and I wanted to see the flying scenes. It was just an all-around great movie-theater movie -- pretty, entertaining, moody . . . familiar.
Here's the deal about Twilight: no matter how loathsome it may be from a political point of view, that movie (and the book for other people) delivers exactly what a lot of young women crave and feel romantically. It's extremely exciting and beautiful and "sexy" in a vague, inexplicit, totally hysterically emotional way. Beautiful boy looks at beautiful girl and they are CONNECTED, locked together . . . anticipating . . . SOMETHING totally INTENSE!!!!
You can criticize that all you want, but when you do, you're trashing the (natural) fantasies of lots and lots of young woman. When I watched that movie I really didn't care what the implications were, I cared that it DELIVERED visions of something deeply desired by girls. After you finally kiss? Something very exciting happens, kind of like exploding into a flying spell into the sky!! Yeah, it's fucking stupid, but that overwrought anticipation of something that gobbles you up entirely and transcends the mundane is part of most young women's hormonal pre-teen/teenage experience. What's next isn't sex, it's MAGIC!!
I had orgasms and the anticipation of sex on the brain a lot as a young woman and I *probably* wouldn't have liked that movie as much then as I do now (my generation's Twilight was Legend, which I thought was a enchanting for two minutes then a total fucking bore except for when Tim Curry as the devilish dark beasty was going to do whatever dirty things he was going to do to Mia Sara), but I still had to celebrate it for being pure fore-fore-foreplay and girly fantasy with pretty menacing shadows.
In general I'm becoming less and less tolerant of myself and other people making fun of what women want or theorizing that the politically incorrect, unempowering things women want are *entirely* constructed for us artificially. There is nothing fake about girls wanting to fly around on the back of a strong beautiful sparkly vampire boy's back or to be a vampire and run-really-really-fast/fly themselves (I haven't read the rest of the books so I don't know if she eventually gets there or not, but clearly there are OTHER female characters who do).
I don't know why it should make people cringe that girls want to immerse themselves in the fantasy of being in tragic love with such a creature or that the public version of this particular popular story is g-rated (except for the violence, of course -- this IS America, after all). Personally? I watch a lot of porn but there were scenes in this movie that were five billion times more agonizingly erotic than anything XXX rated ever could hope to be. It was a brilliant fucking tease, and there's nothing hotter than having no release. I don't give a fuck about the stammering heroine and her shortcomings; she's a blank slate and nobody else cares much about her either because it's a fucking FANTASY. Do girls really need a fucking role model in every single fantasy they have or are they entitled to be thrilled and entertained and suspend contact with reality just like everyone else? I also *almost* don't care about the scariness of fantasizing about a creepy stalker boyfriend who sneaks into your room at night and stares at you while you sleep; yes, it's totally gross and weird and dangerous. But a lot of us have had that same exact unrealistic fantasy and it made us feel good (in more ways than one). That? It's human nature. And I'm sick of women being shamed and cautioned into censoring their own fantasies because we're apparently too stupid to distinguish between fantasy and reality. IT'S A STORY ABOUT VAMPIRES. Can we tell reality and consequences to fuck off for a little while?
If anyone wants to post relevant links like feminist critiques of Twilight, etc. feel free. I honestly have clicked off of just about all of them without giving them the time they probably deserve simply because I'm not in the mood for dissecting it, but I totally understand if other people are (and that my "arguments" are ill-informed and based totally on suspicions and raw emotion). One of the good ones I clicked off of made interesting observations regarding the popularity of abstinence-only sex "education" and Twilight. I don't know why I'm just not in the mood to care a whole lot this time around (I was certainly pissed enough about The Girl with a Pearl Earring that I almost walked out of the theatre) unless it's as I said above; that girls deserve to have their desires spoken to and to enjoy their daydreamy fantasies regardless of how unrealistic and bizarre and dangerous they might be. So yeah -- *I'm* not very interested in getting into a discussion about it in comments, but I totally understand why others might be so more info and other people's perspectives and discussions are still welcome.
Note: I didn't see the show and am only going on the piece I linked to. Also, it's not that I don't think men -- particularly gay men -- are capable of being brilliant stylists and all of that, the part I hate is the whole "Ladies! COVER UP, will ya? Jesus, you fucking skanks -- no one wants to see that much of your old-ass bodies, okaaaaaaaaaay?" attitude. And seriously, if someone doesn't have style that sets them apart from the people they hang out with, do you really think that personal style is something you can THRUST upon them?
When the economy is in the shitter (the direction it's headed right now) people are MORE judgmental and resentful about how much other people are paid and for what kind of work; that's a recipe for even more violence against sex workers. Lots of perpetrators of violence against sex workers explain that their crimes are justified because they shouldn't have to pay for sex -- the woman (or sometimes man) and the work s/he's charging him for are not worthy of payment and/or should be punished for thinking she is. Check out this guy who said a prostitute put her head in his plastic bag by mistake when he wanted his $100 back. For trying to kill her he'll only get a few months in the slammer.
It's not going too far to say that beating, raping, exploiting, infecting, killing, stealing from sex workers and/or refusing to abide by their boundaries is covertly state-sanctioned -- the government says sex workers don't have the right to charge money for their services in most places. Not only do they not have the right to charge money, they are CRIMINALS if they do so. In some places in the United States you can be arrested simply for carrying too many condoms -- it's intent to sell access to your body (which you have no right to do, and if you intend to flout the law in this way you deserve to expose yourself to disease and pregnancy)! You can be charged with a crime in many places just for advising other sex workers ABOUT sex work. The government might not have a bounty on sex workers and we all might SAY that killing them is going too far, but it's a pretty fucking mixed message.
While most of my own work as a webwhore is legal (I say "most" because some of it could easily fall under the nebulous definition of "obscenity" - that and a couple of other things I can think of could land me in prison if the Department of Justice or other unsavory elements chose to target me) and I feel fairly safe doing this work (not just safe for a whore, but even safer relative to women with straight jobs), there are still more than enough people who resent me and women like me for making our livings this way. People who spew hatred and threaten violence that all falls under the category of, "BITCH! YOU DO NOT DESERVE MONEY FOR WHAT YOU DO & YOU DESERVE TO BE PUNISHED FOR EVEN SUGGESTING ANYONE PAY YOU FOR THIS!! I will *take* by force what you deny me for free." I'm willing to bet these messages will only increase and intensify in the months and years to come as people get poorer, hungrier, and angrier.
There's a march in DC going on right now. FurryGirl is there and taking pictures like this one:
The demand on the banner to "STOP SHAMING US TO DEATH" is powerful, especially in conjunction with the message that "ONLY RIGHTS CAN STOP THE WRONGS". Violence against sex workers is made too easy because of wrongheaded laws that make some people's versions of "immorality" criminal. It's broader than the moral or religious issues, though: it's about class and gender -- specifically denying women (1) ownership of their bodies and (2) the right to charge people to access it (3) within boundaries each woman defines for herself.
Connect the dots in the bigger picture to shaky/compromised abortion rights, our continued unwillingness to recognize parenthood as real work worthy of payment, and our refusal to protect natural resources like WATER (where ownership by one entity should be really fucking hard to claim) from unsustainable corporate exploitation compared to our insistence upon denying individual women opportunities to profit from their own individual bodies (where self-ownership should be pretty fucking OBVIOUS/undeniable, especially when you consider how much money male pro-athletes make abusing their bodies for our entertainment and no laws deny them the RIGHT to exploit their bodies in those damaging ways***) -- it seems pretty obvious that denying rights to sex workers is part of a bigger agenda to deny women opportunities to profit from work that is mostly performed by women because we are at a natural biological ADVANTAGE to perform it. Basically? It's about making sure women are only punished for their gender rather than economically rewarded for it.
It will be a cold day in hell when someone goes violently vigilante on the asses of Wall Street executives and all the corporate fat cats and bankers getting bailed out for fucking us over financially; there are always loopholes to guarantee their "right" to be multi-fucking millionaires at our expense, but there are sure to be plenty of whores killed by men who get the message loud and clear from our government(s) (and all of us who tell them we LIKE our laws just like this) that there IS no loophole for a woman who thinks she's entitled to earning a few bucks for a blowjob. God forbid we put a cap on the exorbitant amount of ill-gotten money men "make"; instead let's keep making sure the whores don't get out of pocket thinking their dirty pussies are worth a thin fucking dime.
Discriminatory laws against sex work and women's work in general don't just encourage and facilitate physical violence, some people would say those laws and their applications are themselves acts of violence -- when you make it next-to-impossible for someone to work, when you take away her income, when you stigmatize someone by slapping a criminal record or a special stripper/whore license on her that will limit her job opportunities in the future, when you eat up her time in court and behind bars, when you make her pay fines, when you make her vulnerable to blackmail by thieves and rapists both in and out of uniform, that can at LEAST be called a hostile and dangerous violence-breeding atmosphere. Whether or not you believe Deborah Jeane Palfrey's death was a suicide, you have to recognize that she (and possibly other women connected to her case) would not be dead now if women had the right to do sex work. Who needs the Green River Killer to cleanse the country of garbage as long as we have the government to ruin and destroy the lives of sex workers? And when I say "government", I don't mean that the rest of us have clean hands. Voters are the ones who had an opportunity in San Francisco last month to decriminalize prostitution and guess what? THEY DIDN'T. We're not talking about old laws no one enforces anymore, we're talking about active BULLSHIT that just keeps on trucking.
Yes, it's impossible for me to calmly deliver a moderate, easy-to-understand argument about sex worker rights and reducing violence perpetrated against sex workers. I'm sorry for that. I feel guilty for not doing more for sex workers as a group -- for not being more of an activist, for not staying better informed, for not being a more coherent educator. As with any minority suffering discrimination and persecution, it's a challenge to have time to earn a living in that discriminatory atmosphere AND be an agent of change. That's why discrimination and marginalization WORK SO WELL; when people are underprivileged and denied rights granted to others, they 1) lack the resources to effectively fight for change, and 2) can't be completely honest or open about their own stories without fear of reprisals and punishment. It's true that I feel relatively safe as a webwhore, but I said RELATIVELY safe, not just-plain-SAFE. I realize I am VERY lucky, but still vulnerable.
I hate that my blog entries on this subject wind up preaching to the choir and are probably ignored or misunderstood by everyone else, but seriously -- this whore needs to spend the rest of the day trying to make money rather than blowing off steam just to hear her head rattle. With the poor economy and my own situation of having gone deeply into credit card debt to finance our business, I do have a heightened awareness of how my own safety and standing in society is threatened even more by the fact that I'm a sex worker and therefore considered disposable and fair game for scapegoating, at the very least. I know from my OWN feelings of jealousy towards people who are economically privileged and resentment towards those protected enough by their gender and class to get away with huge scams that are considered legit ways to fuck people for money that we all can become very, ummmm, mean-spirited when the chips are down.
I wish I could wrap this up with a big Christmas bow that would change the world for sex workers or at least make people WANT to see that happen, but I'm at a loss for how to do that so I will simply say THANK YOU to the people who are out their lobbying for change on behalf of me and other sex workers today.
***there are definitely class (and race) issues at work that allow mostly poor men of color to beat each other senseless in boxing rings and suffer tons of injuries in other pro sports with regulations that do very little to protect them; by bringing this up I'm not saying boxing or other sports should be illegal or even necessarily more heavily regulated -- I only mention it as an interesting comparison to sex work. It illustrates the irrationally contradictory double standards when it comes to women's bodies versus men's bodies and what kind of work they can put them to for how much money.
While other women are out shopping for bargains today, we're staying home to masturbate on cam. Yes, I planned it that way deliberately to target the men in the states who stay home jacking off to internet porn while the wimmin-folk are out in the malls blowing money.
I'm sure many of those women would call me evil, exploiting the Thanksgiving holiday for profit by appealing to people's "base" instincts. Leading their men-folk astray and causing them to cyber-cheat while their loving wives are out dutifully blowing wads of dough.
Can you tell I think that's all a crock of shit? The way the chaste and moral crowd points their fingers at whores like me while they're out TRAMPLING PEOPLE TO DEATH for Black Friday bargains?
A worker died after being trampled and a woman miscarried when hundreds of shoppers smashed through the doors of a Long Island Wal-Mart Friday morning, witnesses said.
The unidentified worker, employed as an overnight stock clerk, tried to hold back the unruly crowds just after the Valley Stream store opened at 5 a.m.
Witnesses said the surging throngs of shoppers knocked the man down. He fell and was stepped on. As he gasped for air, shoppers ran over and around him.
As far as I know, no one has ever had a miscarriage watching porn, so take THAT family values!
I break out into a cold sweat whenever I hear about and imagine crowds-gone-wild; all of those sports arena horror stories and such make me crap my pants; I am deathly afraid of the mob, of our basest, wild-eyed instincts stomping the fuck out of each other. Of having the breath crushed out of me.
We were watching one of those MOST SHOCKING CRAZY-ASS THINGS CAUGHT ON VIDEO shows the other night showing a riot in Vancouver after a hockey game; people running amok, setting shit on fire, overturning cop cars, smashing into storefronts, etc. It's just bizarre to me that people are so scared by PORN and do so much to try to censor it out of existence, but no one ever says we should stop allowing mass-attendance at sporting events, or we should ban sports all together. It's a stupid proposal, I guess, but one that makes WAY MORE SENSE than getting rid of porn or continuing all the lame-ass crackdowns on sex work in general.
People are fucking insane, especially when they're in large groups where they feel no personal responsibility for the damage that can be done by the mad power of the unstoppable horde.
On that note, I must now prepare myself for the unruly, anonymous crowds that might attend my webcam show in a couple of hours. But no matter how badly they behave, it couldn't possibly be as unpleasant as SHOPPING today.
Thanks to Delia for the heads up on today's trampling death.
The other night we heard Martin Short ask Conan O'Brien if it's okay to say "penis" on television. Conesy assured him that if it's a "medical" word you can say it on tv. So they said it, "PENIS", over and over. Martin also said, "ding dong", "my unit" and a whole bunch of other terms as he used his hands to indicate EXACTLY what part of his body he was talking about.
Guess what happens if you do a search for "clitoris"? BIG FAT ZERO.
I only learned of this reading Susie Bright's post about this twisted double standard. Of course, to be fair, "vagina" doesn't seem to be considered a dirty word since I just turned on strict filtering and did a search for that term and came up with (considerably fewer than penis) results so . . . yeah.
It IS upsetting and there's clearly a weird double standard; it's hilarious (in a very dark way) that anyone would think a clitoris is more dangerous than a penis, and "dangerous" IS the opposite of "safe", isn't it? Still, I don't know that I feel exactly the same way about it that Susie does, though I think hers is an important perspective full of many truths and that we should all be pissed off about this kind of bullshit. But part of the hate, shame, and willful ignorance of women and women's bodies is wrapped up in the shame and disgust men feel (and women AND MANY *FEMINISTS* REINFORCE AND ENCOURAGE) over straight men's sexual response to women. If it's a part of the body that makes a straight man's dick hard -- something they want to see and touch and lick and talk about and see pictures of -- then it needs to be censored to save those crazed pudwhackers from themselves and the women from the damage that is wrought when men think of women in a sexual way!
I'm not sure "the giant obscene 'F' word in Internet censorship is feminism". Yes, I think this is a feminist issue, for sure, but I don't think the sole or even the primary motive for/cause of banning a word like "clitoris" from google's safe search is a clear desire to silence feminists and shroud women and their bodies in a reinforced veil of ignorance. Sure, that's one of many RESULTS (and there are plenty of places where plenty of people DO make silencing feminists and campaigning against women and knowledge of women's bodies number one on their agenda) and it's easy to see why Susie would feel especially pissed about it when she's not one of the sex-negative feminists who thinks that every boner sprung is a rape waiting to happen (a way of thinking that, combined with the conservative, supposedly apolitical woman's belief that every time a man masturbates to pictures of women who aren't his wife that a family is destroyed, has made the men who are still in charge very eager to PRETEND to try to disapprove along with us of their dirty habit of jacking off over images of our bodies) . . . and when you turn safe search off to find "clitoris", the seventh page-one result is her post on the internal clitoris, etc. Obviously safe search filters could make it harder for Susie to sell books.
A little diversion: laughably, the retarded UNfactual "ask men dating and love tip" page on "understanding the clitoris" ranks higher than Susie's or Scarleteen's pages, but that's probably because a site like AskMen works a lot harder on search engine optimization than educators, artists, writers, political activists, etc.). The web used to be more of a woman, but now it's poorly micromanaged by algorithms cooked up by men. Are their little mathematical formulas conscious attempts to censor feminist obscenities (like truth)? No. I don't think so.
There are so many more pointed ways that women and the truths about our bodies told from our own perspectives are smacked down by corporate censors that the banned google clitoris isn't at the top of my list of things to use as an example. It's the more obvious and uncomplicated stuff I've had to deal with as a pornographer (one of those "commercial porn-makers" Susie identifies as someone who she thinks doesn't suffer from bans and censorship the way artists, writers, educators and political activists do, which is an annoying and probably unintentional slap in the face I've felt delivered from the latter group and their "poor, starving, I-do-it-for-love-not-money mentality" before -- I guess they always think we'll know that they don't mean pornographers like Tony Comstock who of course get to be included as ARTISTES) that really chap my hide as clear-cut cases of misogyny combined with the anti-sex backlash perpetrated by the feminists who deign to speak for all of us. Again, it's not that Susie is one of those people, it's just that I see feminism as one of many complex contributors to internet censorship, not just a victim of it.
So what IS a clear cut case of anti-woman, ignorance-enforcing internet censorship? When credit card companies and their processors tell me my body (and yours, if you're a woman) is OBSCENE when I'm menstruating and I'm not allowed to talk about it or show pictures of it or have sex with myself or other people while I'm having my period on any domain where I make money selling my porn. When they spider our sites looking for banned words, take them out of context and threaten to take away our ability to be paid for our work even when it IS political, educational, artistic, etc. Guess what? Google is not the entity afraid of my bloody pussy. Google is not the entity hiding or demanding I delete blog entries discussing political, legal and ethical issues containing banned words. I just have to cross my fingers when I make posts like this one that they won't come fuck with me, but technically I am defying their terms of service right now by posting this and could have my business shut down because of it. And it's not just "the man" who's against me, it's the (other) feminists, too.
Censorship isn't something you can blame all on men and their holy penises and their desire to stamp out feminism. And I'm starting to rethink that great old joke she mentioned; "if men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament." It's totally true, but I'll bet if that were the case today, feminists would quickly become the new pro-lifers. The gender wars are far from one-sided and I've been hit by a whole fucking lot of "friendly fire" over here on "our" side.
I know I'm being oversensitive and carelessly lobbing my own grenades in the wrong direction at people who are my allies, but oversimplifying everything as "anti-feminist" undermines all of our arguments and neglects to acknowledge the ways that some of feminism's "successes" have led to these failures along the way. There's a bit Bill Maher does that annoys the FUCK out of me to listen to (off-topic sidenote: I didn't like much about "Religulous", fyi), but I can't help thinking of it right now because some of it's true and applicable:
My guess is that banning "clitoris" has very little (if anything) to do with a campaign to censor feminist thought and information and women's bodies, and a whole lot more to do with thoughtlessness along with this thing Bill Maher talks about, with men trained to bow to "feminized"/feminINE values that anything that makes them erect is BAD. When you layer that onto the big problems that we SHOULD be focusing on like a) the people that make decisions in big companies being men, and b) men assuming everyone who uses their tools (like search engines) ARE men, and c) all men are straight, you wind up with guys jumping to the conclusion that any search for a clitoris is one that's going to make someone bust a nut and is therefore unsafe. Or maybe a whole lot of confused and retarded thought WAS put into it (with a, b and c still factored in) and they decided that since, as feminists will proudly point out to you, they've heard that clitoris is the only organ with the sole function of PLEASURE, and MEN HAVE BEEN TAUGHT THAT THEIR PLEASURE IS BAD if they experience it themselves, especially by objectifying women in pictures or on the internet, that it should be banned. Or maybe it's totally ridiculous to imagine ANY THOUGHT WHATSOEVER went into this arbitrary "decision". I highly doubt that a bunch of people came together in a room with a picture of a cock on one side of the chalkboard and a vulva on the other, and came to a consensus that CLITORIS is a dirty word but PENIS isn't, and high-fived each other on the way out the door saying, "right on, man! Another way to stick it to feminism!!"
Ultimately I think it's paranoid to say, "it's been clear for a long time that the giant obscene "F" word in Internet censorship is feminism." And untrue. And I say that as someone who believes it IS true that feminism (and accurate information about women) is censored, misrepresented, considered obscene and something to quash and oppose on a very large, grand scale. I just don't think that's the case here with google and the clitoris, and if you want to point at double standards, the more glaring one is ignoring how much power and influence feminists and women in general have had and continue to wield in censoring the internet, art, and women who capitalize (the first offense) on men's desires by selling them access to their bodies (second offense). It's wrong to imply that feminist writers, artists, etc. have suffered more from internet censorship than pornographers.
Sure, feminist writers, artists, etc. make less money than smut peddlers as a whole, but that disparity has nothing to do with censorship - porn makes money in SPITE of censorship that FAVORS women writers and artists (who don't create graphic material that is VISUAL), and is DEMANDED by the tag team duo of feminists and conservative women. You want to know why most women don't make money on the internet? BECAUSE THEY DON'T WANT TO. Because they don't even try. Because they are content sitting around bitching and blogging and crying on each other's shoulders feeling superior because they aren't whores motivated by money, no they care about PRINCIPLES and getting warm fuzzies commiserating with each other and expect the "community" to take care of them rather than creating something marketable and making enough money to buy influence and support their causes themselves. Because they rely on the man to pay them just enough that they can bitch about it being unfair and that they only do it because they HAVE to, rather than BECOMING the man long enough and with enough success that they can subvert the system. Women don't make money because they love just scraping by and they think that makes them superior to men, because they don't think big except in terms of imagining some big plot designed to keep them barefoot and pregnant.
Whatever. Enough of this baloney -- I need to stop being a hypocrite and make me some fucking money.
This is a long-ass entry. I already cut out a lot and saved it for future entries, but I was still left with all of this, so be forewarned; it's not a quick read:
When we started letting friends know that Delia identifies as a woman and decided to transition from presenting as a man to living as a woman, one of the first questions was from a friend who sent this to me:
So now the million $ question: Do you think of yourself as a lesbian?
The short answer? No. I do not think of myself as a lesbian. I never have and I never will.
Sorry to disappoint folks who were looking for a juicy DELIA: MY TRANSSEXUAL GIRLFRIEND AND HOW OUR LIVES ARE NOW A CRAZY LESBIAN FUCK-PARTY! entry, but her transition doesn't change my sexual orientation, nor does it change hers. I didn't grow up feeling "different" (not because of my sexual preferences, anyway; I felt different in other ways, but those are different subjects). I have always been hot for men, starting with Elvis, little boys in the neighborhood, and hot ethnic dudes from seventies television like Erik Estrada on Chips (wheeee tight black gloves!), Chico (see Chico and the Man), and Epstein on Welcome Back Kotter. Real LESBIANS do not grow up feeling "hot for dudes". Seriously, just looking at those images makes me hot in a special way reserved for triggers set early in girlhood. Of course, I'm rather partial to men's mouths when they look suspiciously like hot pussy: full, juicy, blood-infused lips decorated with hair (see also, Isaac on Love Boat: that kind of mustache always gives me a big fucking clit boner). And I can't deny that I had a very special, tingly interest in Jo/Nancy McKeon on Facts of Life. And Blair. And titties. And naked girls in magazines. Yes, the "Jo" archetype has been in many of my lesbo masturbation fantasies, only the setting is less boarding school and more prison.
So what IS my sexual preference? For most of my adult life I've been in the "it's all good" category; I identify myself as omnisexual (aka pansexual). I'm what most people call "bisexual", but have never liked that label: first, because I objected to wearing a special designation that seems to say I'm "different" from the majority of people (when I emphatically believe MOST people are just plain SEXUAL), and later because it assumes we only have two options to choose from. In a pinch, though, I will call myself bisexual because it's the most efficient, accurate way for me to identify my sexuality to lots of people who aren't familiar with all of these nuances and super-cool labels. Whenever time allows and it's possible (during conversations or chat sessions rather than check-marking boxes on forms that never have enough options) I do try to remind people there are alternatives to the limited, oversimplified notions of sexuality and gender most of us were raised to accept.
The first time my sexual preference was called into question was in elementary school in the seventies. My friend, Irene, and I had been playing our special game of "Elvis" with each other since we were four or five and continued through fifth or sixth grade. One night at her house after we got done humping each other, she was overcome with guilt and teared up, confronting me with the weirdest question I'd ever heard in my life:
"Trixie . . . you know we're gay, don't you?"
Ummmmm . . . actually, no. No I did not know that. And I told her so.
Let me clarify; I didn't tell her that I wasn't aware we were gay, as in "wow, Irene! So *that's* what we are! Because I've really been wondering; thanks for clearing that up!". I told her we WERE NOT gay. Even with my very limited idea of what "gay" meant, I knew I wasn't. I knew what we were doing was normal even though I knew it wasn't something we were supposed to tell everybody about. I looked forward to doing it, it was fun, and hey, we were playing Elvis, right? Elvis was a guy that all women wanted to do it with, so how could that be gay?
She reminded me that the big girls at school had called us gay when they saw us holding hands with each other in the hallway and I tried to reassure her that they were just mean. There's nothing WRONG with friends holding hands! I knew intuitively that we were basically just little girls (fourth grade, I think) who loved each other in a way that couldn't possibly be that weird. Again, I wouldn't have wanted the big girls with the feathered hair to SEE us humping each other, but that was none of their business. Their world wasn't my world -- those girls were people to be avoided or stared at because they were pretty but they were in no position to know who we were or call us grown-up names. Also, they were stupid -- the kinds of girls who would never win a spelling bee (they're actually dead now and the little know-it-all in me attributes their early deaths to their own stupidity, but it was really much sadder than being dumb and I didn't know them well enough to gauge that anyway; one of them actually wound up with her severed head stuck up high in a tree, but I digress).
In fact, Irene was pretty stupid too. I think I believed that if it had never occurred to me to worry about this "gay" thing myself, it couldn't possibly be something to concern ourselves with. I was the smart one who tried to spend all of her recesses in the library reading dirty books, so it felt natural to conclude that Irene was just wrong and had a stupid thought in her head. I'd already seen her make a million stupid tear-stained mistakes in our short lives, like the time she wanted to steal candy in the drugstore WHILE WE WERE WITH HER MOM after the guy at the dry goods store failed to bestow his customary free suckers on us. She tried to convince me to steal, then as soon as we were out the door she broke down crying and confessed to her mom. Whaaaaaaaaat a dumb ass! Seriously, I couldn't believe the way she operated sometimes.
I'm only now considering the possibility that maybe I was wrong. Not about my own regular brand of opportunistic sexuality, but about hers. After all, SHE always insisted on being Elvis while I was always in the Ann-Margret role ("woman" astride, though). I never really challenged her too much on that because the action itself along with the thought of Elvis was fulfilling enough for me. I guess I just thought she LOOKED a lot like Elvis (not in a butch way, she just has the same exact mouth as him) so it made sense at the time. As an adult I *have* wondered where she got some of her ideas; we were about five when she told me that "Elvis always pees on his girlfriends." which now does seem like an advanced concept for one so young; one secret (of perhaps many) Irene DID manage to keep from her mom was how the Bugs Bunny beach towel got completely soaked with piss.
I wonder if Irene knew she was gay all along and I totally dismissed what she might have realized from the beginning. She went on to do all the things straight girls did in rural high schools in the late eighties: drinking, fucking and frosting her hair. Now she's married with kids. I even went to her wedding chock full of those sick Bible verses about the husband submitting to God and the wife submitting to her husband, followed by a reception full of their wasted relatives raging about that dirty fucking Bill Clinton and how he should be impeached . . . or shot! I still love Irene and hope to Christ she's NOT gay and stuck in a straight marriage with me being the only pussy she ever got. That would be tragic. I'm pretty sure I called it right back in elementary school, though, and that she just let what those mean girls said bother her. Sex play with same-sex childhood friends, even if it continues into your teens, is not a good predictor of sexual preference just like GENDER is not a good predictor of sexual preference.
I know I didn't have enough information to really understand what Irene was worried about back then; we grew up with no internet, no same-sex kissing on tv, no real discussion of any of those things. I'd never been exposed to people being called names like "faggot", but of course I realized and accepted that grown-ups "did it" in male/female pairs even if I had no awareness of a group of grown-up people who did it (and were discriminated against for doing it) the same way Irene and I did. I don't know if I'd ever heard my parents talk about gay people and if we knew any, I wasn't aware of it. I totally thought Billy Crystal was cute/sexy on "Soap" and didn't understand ANYTHING about the show other than that I liked watching him. I didn't know he was playing one of the first openly gay characters on television - I had no conscious understanding of that.
In kindergarten there was one kid who was clearly DIFFERENT, but I just thought he was obnoxious and then he moved to another school so I didn't find out until many years later that he was gay; The memory of how he stood out is still so vivid to me, his shiny orange hair contrasted with his green turtleneck, his flair for the dramatic, his isolation . . . he was SO gay from the very beginning. As a teenager I remember when Donahue had some lesbians on his show and they explained that when most girls played with their Barbie dolls, Barbie and Ken wound up getting it on, but they were different because when THEY played Barbies, it was Skipper and Barbie who always wound up pressed against each other. Even with all the humping Irene and I did on each other, it never dawned on me to use Skipper like that when there was a KEN doll around.
It's things like that -- people being obviously queer and having to deal with identifying and coping with that difference their entire childhood -- that make me adamantly opposed to ever calling myself a lesbian. Spending the rest of my life with someone who identifies as a woman -- who I fell in love with because she was NOT exactly a man -- will not make me a lesbian, and it's not because she's trans; I would say the same thing if she were born with a pussy. I will not call myself a lesbian because, aside from not being one, "lesbian" is a political word representing a minority with a set of experiences that I never had -- never could have -- because I have always felt myself part of the majority when it comes to the genders of people I like to have sex with.
Having said that, when I was in college I *did* come out to my friends and family as bisexual. I know, it sounds like no big thing today but things have changed a lot in the past fifteen years, you know? It wasn't super hard or anything, but it was important enough that I thought the people closest to me should know that I might bring a chick home someday. I'd been aware since I was seventeen that women turned me on even when they weren't pretending to be Elvis (did I already tell you about this orgasmic epiphany I had when I went to Girls' State? I feel like I did, but if so, I can't find where I posted it), but it took me awhile longer to even imagine having a "girlfriend". Of course, everyone in college thought I was a lesbian anyway. Everyone EXCEPT for the handful of lesbians, so let's just say college was one big dry spell for me.
Even though I consider myself omnisexual or pansexual, I can't say that I'm AS sexually attracted to women as to men, and up until recently I had almost no concept of the spectrum of transgender beyond cross-dressers or a remote acknowledgment of "bizarre medical cases" totally far removed from my reality so my fantasy life hasn't included trans people (except crossdressers). Transgender is something I've been ignorant and unaware of most of my life, so I definitely can't say that I'm equally attracted to trans people as to bio men who present as men (most of the time, anyway). I did really love watching Bosom Buddies, of course, and found the guys way hotter when they were dressed up than when they were just boring dudes, but I think I always wanted them to ONLY be wearing the glossy lipstick and some girl clothes WITHOUT the wigs and the earrings. And for the both of them to be fucking Donna Dixon while they were in half-drag.
So yeah . . . my preference is more on the straight side of the continuum; I have a primal response to Elvis, Ponch, Chico, and Epstein that's more intensely sexual than the one I have to Jo, Ginger (Gilligan's Island) and Salma Hayak. Lately most of the time when I fantasize about fucking someone new, it's guys or FTM people. That's a shift from before Delia and I got together when I spent more time fantasizing about women than I do now. Why do I think more about hooking up with men or transmen these days? PROBABLY BECAUSE I'VE BEEN FUCKING A TRANSWOMAN FOR SIX YEARS. And back when I spent time longing for women, I was mostly fucking guys.
Even though I'm not a lesbian, I don't think of myself as straight, either. In fact, my feathers were ruffled recently at a GLBT meeting when someone referred to Delia and I as a straight couple. Yes, I have grown up enjoying and feeling entitled to the privileges straight people have in our society, but we are not a straight couple. I'm not straight, she's not straight, our relationship is not straight, and our jobs are not straight. We are not a straight couple. I don't want to be called a lesbian couple (I was totally confused when I heard a transwoman referring to her work with her female partner as "lesbian porn") but not being lesbian doesn't automatically make us straight.
Still, it was pretty wacky last year when we went to a GLBT event right after Delia decided to transition and I felt like an intruder, not because anyone treated me like one, but because I kind of AM an intruder. I know that the "B" in GLBT stands for me and I know that I just said I'm not straight, but the room was small and I felt like I was taking up space someone else might have NEEDED and DESERVED more than I did. As a woman, I feel really strongly that people in minority groups have protected spaces with good energy from people who GET what it's like to be where they're at and where they've been. Like I said before, I didn't grow up feeling "different" (I don't FEEL like bisexuality is a minor preference, even though I know that the political reality is that it's not accepted when it's anything more than two girls dabbling but running straight home to the cock after they "experiment" and "get it out of their systems") so it was weird to be in that room and for the first time automatically qualify on what felt like a technicality -- because my partner's trans. At the time I wasn't sure I had anything to offer or anything I could rightfully gain from throwing myself into the GLBT mix.
Or maybe it was just a wake-up call, that I don't have an excuse to avoid standing in the middle of a group of people that's openly hated, persecuted, and targeted for special kinds of violence reserved especially for special kinds of people. I know what that feels like as a woman, a pornographer, a nerd, and a sex worker, but I exempted myself from feeling it about my sexual preference, or, more accurately my LACK of a strong preference. I could advocate and empathize -- and stand safely out of harm's way. Not anymore.
It gets tiring, too, standing in another group where I feel like a liar because my profile is different and has a bunch of things in it that I know many people would reject if only they know. Like when I go to church and feel like a liar because I don't believe in their church God on an intellectual level the way almost everyone else does who likes going to church. Or when I identify myself as a feminist to women who I *know* plot ways to get rid of the scourge of pornography. When the GLBT group of people sees me out and about with someone who sometimes looks like a boy and uses a boy name, I worry that they'll think I'm a liar even though I never SAID I was a lesbian. I still cringe imagining those people and people at church and feminists all turning to look at me, aghast when they realize how I betrayed them just by walking in their midst, pretending to be one of them. A man-fucker, an atheist with a weakness for ritual and the mystical, an exploiter of women and a user of cunt, a democrat who wants to drown herself in money.
It seems like such a simple question, "are you a lesbian". But like everything else that's attached to someone or something I love, I feel like I need to explain how much more complex it is than yes or no. That if I don't explain, I'll be guilty of some deception.
Just for fun, I'm imagining being offered the chance to pick someone new to be intimate with every week for a year out of everyone in the world. When I think of it that way, men and women would probably come out pretty even with some transgender competition thrown into the mix. I don't know if that means I don't really lean as far towards the straight side as I thought, or if that's just a typical buffet mentality speaking where you pile a lot of different things on your plate that you might not have ordered if you could only pick three or four of them. I'm a sucker for a buffet, though. A good (or even a mediocre) buffet is my idea of heaven. Damn, I'm hungry.
These pics of me wearing shiny thigh-high boots are from a new set of photos I'm posting for my members soon:
My mom, sister and nephew spent a couple of nights with us so I haven't gotten much work done the past few days, but here are a few posts you might have missed with examples of my masturbation fodder. For those of you who are curious about what I get off on when I have a couple minutes to pursue such things, lately I head to Rude for the homemade masturbation videos guys upload there themselves (I know the ads are annoying, but I'm a member so I don't have to see them):
EXPOSED MEMBERS: As you can tell by the number of videos regular guys post online for free featuring themselves jacking off -- sometimes in the most humiliating of ways -- a lot of men are not only exhibitionists, but get off on the idea of being forced or coerced into exposing themselves in embarrassing ways, being laughed at, having their penises inspected, and being ordered to masturbate for onlookers. There's even a porn niche called "CFNM" (clothed female nude male) featuring men at the mercy of women who make them do these things for their entertainment.
CFNM is one of my favorite types of fetish scenarios because it revolves around the fantasy of women making men perform "against their will" with the balance of power being tipped in women's favor (pretty unusual in porn). I also love role plays with a lot of build-up, which most CFNM scenes have. There's a new site called CFNM Secret which is a fun attempt by one of the big corporate porn giants to exploit this market. I personally prefer Pure CFNM because they seem to "get it" more, but maybe CFNM Secret will appeal to a broader audience. I'm not so much into scenes where the chicks suck and fuck the guys, and I prefer for the men to look psychologically TORMENTED and completely aghast at being unable to control their own sexual response, but pretty much any CFNM scene turns me on way more than generic porn unless it's the bachelorette party scenario where they go wild for male strippers (yawn).
I understand why guys enjoy fantasizing about being male strippers, but as someone who's been to events where they've been hired, even when those dudes are outnumbered and getting paid they still act like they're in charge of us and what happens, and that pisses me off. I will never forget the fucker who came to a bachelorette party and overstayed his welcome for HOURS lecturing us on NAFTA while most of the girls tolerated and even encouraged it while I drunkenly got in his face telling him he was WAY out of line, to shut the fuck up and to leave. Fifteen years later, the memory of it STILL makes me mad. The only time I've seen a male stripper behave properly (submit to women and entertain them, rather than himself) was a black guy with a circus penis (down to his knee, NO JOKE) at a house party with mostly black women. He kept his mouth shut and performed without acting like he needed to intimidate us. He was eager to please and seemed to genuinely get off on being in a submissive position without demanding extra attention. We got to USE him and he seemed to know that was what he was there for.
As I write this I am fully aware that I would freak out if I saw a guy writing about female sex workers this way; I know I have a double standard on this (men who are hired to entertain women should KEEP THEIR YAPS SHUT), but there's still a double standard in the Americas with men doing most of the talking and controlling and women doing most of the submitting and listening. I can't help it that role plays reversing that power imbalance are a turn-on to me both sexually and emotionally. It's like therapy; I get a big charge out of it.
Just a quick post to say that we have family visiting today and tomorrow so some of our cams and audio will be down. It's been too long since we've seen our nephew and we haven't even given my sister her present for her birthday which was a month ago. It's a hot pair of peeptoe sandals so in the back of my mind I'm hoping I can get a set of foot-focused pics out of her while she's wearing them, too. Is that so wrong? PROBABLY!
Some snaps of me from the last time we had company over:
My psychiatrist's office finally called back so I made an appointment to get back on Ritalin. I got a huge headache yesterday because I've been trying to use caffeine instead of prescription stimulants and caffeine? It's pure fucking evil. I don't have to consume much over the course of three or four days to suffer nasty consequences.
Even though I was almost totally out of commission yesterday with the headache, I did manage to write and post for members a sicko masturbation fantasy I had. I'm not sure if other people will jack off to it, but it's an interesting peek into the mind of a woman and how the threat of violence from men is a constantly disturbing companion that can't be safely separated from sex in our subconscious minds. Our brains are diseased with scary men.
And no, I don't think it's great JUST because I'm profiled in such a warm, fuzzy way in it; it's great because she tells you about a lot of the behind-the-scenes unsexy stuff that get in the way of indie porn being fun. Billing stuff, legal stuff, branding stuff, asshole stuff, relationship stuff, gender stuff, multi-tasking stuff, etc.
Reading Rachel Kramer Bussel's piece contemplating how many partner makes you promiscuous I finally started work on something I've wanted to post for members for a long time: a numbered list of all the people I've fucked or had some sort of sex with.
There are so many layers I'd like to explore that I haven't finished it yet: why I feel compelled to maintain such lists, how I feel about the numbers (and the possibilities of adding to them), the different ways such a list may be fetishized, whether less data presented in very simple form is more erotic than more data presented in detail with complete sentences in story form or even captured on video or in pictures, how making indie porn and being with Delia since 2002 has effected the numbers, how my list may or may not be different from a man's, etc.
I also wanted to dig through some of my old photos to find images of some of the people on the list which led me into the frustrating chore of trying to recover corrupted data off of a cd I burned ages ago (most of our photos are backed up in numerous places with different kinds of storage, but not these images which have sentimental value to me now). None of the photos are pornographic and I own the rights to them since I took them, but of course I'm struggling with the ethical dilemma of whether or not to share some of these images (and if so, which ones and whether or not to blur parts of them) and all of the different ways I'm justifying doing it while still feeling like it's wrong. But wanting to anyway. For the record. Which is a huge compulsion for me, wanting everything to be recorded and saved for posterity. Which I feel is very RIGHT which is part of why I follow trains of thought and say offensive things, many times at my own expense and/or the expense of others, because it represents something interesting or is an example of something that fascinates me and is thought-provoking. I am one of those assholes who acts like ideas are more important than people and that gets nasty and squats on boundaries when the ideas I like are ABOUT people.
Anyway, for those of you who are members and have been looking forward to reading the list, I apologize for underestimating how long it would take for me to get it done. I could post it now, but not without some of the context and thought I want to put in it.
My random thoughts on/responses to Rachel's piece about promiscuity:
This is SO TRUE: "Your number of partners and how "special" the sex is are not necessarily related."
Not that I think sex has to be "special" for someone to deserve to have it and be exempt from moral judgment, but it IS a way of connecting with other people, yourself and even the divine and sacred (if you're into that). It's a basic human need. A core drive. Anyway, is every meal you have "special"? No, but you still need to eat and are programmed to do it at regular intervals.
It cracks me up when many of the people who are judgmental about sex are the same people who put really bad food in their bodies every day. Food that is unhealthy, that they aren't mindful or thankful of when they eat, that they waste, that was unethically and/or immorally produced. That's WAY worse than choosing to enjoy putting a stranger's cock in your mouth. Anyone who scarfs down corn syrup, meat, chemical-laden and genetically modified food is in NO position to judge a woman for what she puts in her vagina.
*What does promiscuous mean, anyway? To me, it just means having many partners in a short time span and that's a meaningless definition since "many partners" and "short time span" are so subjective. I think promiscuity can be very healthy and don't think there should be a value judgment attached to it though I recognize THERE IS.
*15 partners is not a lot, in my book. If you're not in a long-term monogamous relationship your entire adult life (and I don't think that is more morally right than NOT being in a monogamous relationship, I'm just acknowledging that most people consider them ideal, rightly or wrongly, and you have more opportunities to fuck) and you're only averaging one new sex partner a year then . . . that pretty much sucks ass for the average human and you're definitely NOT a "slut". Its healthy to have sex at least 1-3 times a week, and if you aren't in a relationship of course you will probably have multiple partners. The UNhealthy/wrong thing to do is get into or stay in a relationship just so you can have access to socially acceptable sex. Even if you're only hooking up with a new person to have sex once a month (which is pretty fucking DRY) you'd still have twelve new partners a year.
*I agree that the double standard does still exist and the pressure for women to not be openly promiscuous (and the response to those who are or are perceived to be) is FUCKED UP and has really scary repercussions. Namely that your worth decreases and ownership of yourself disappears the more people you fuck, making you a target for all sorts of abuse. I think its a representation of our (society's) feeling that women do not own themselves, or are only permitted to temporarily own themselves if certain conditions are met. People think that every time a woman's body is accessed by someone else that she's transferring some ownership of it, having part of her soul and dignity sucked out of her, and losing her ability to have "meaningful" relationships with other people (like her all-important future husband, the final titleholder!). Like she's becoming less human and more animal, "degrading" herself from personhood to a piece of meat, and we're told that once she "does that to herself" (fails to/refuses to meet the requirements to be human which are different for women than men and designed to make her fail because doing so would make her NOT human) it is OPEN SEASON ON HER ASS -- she asked for it. If she doesn't care about herself (and "caring for herself" actually means denying herself what she wants), why should anyone else?
It's uhhhh . . . pretty fucking crazy and yeah, I do totally believe that extreme misogyny is the foundation for all of the anti-slut sentiment (and the way most people use the word "slut").
*I don't think most people who are intimate with more than three people in their lives can actually remember who and exactly how many people they've screwed around with. Having kept track of it myself, I am positive that if I hadn't logged the information I would not remember most of the people on my list (especially since I can't easily recall a lot of the people that are on it, even with their names right there). I interact with far fewer people than most do, so if *I* can't remember people I've fucked, I'm sure people who are actually normal social creatures drop a lot of interaction, even if its sexual, from their quickly-recalled memories.
You have to be a bit of a freak of nature to know exactly how many people you've had sex with. On top of that, so many people don't qualify a lot of sexual behavior as "sex" (the whole "blowjobs don't count" thing, or "he only went down on me but we didn't actually have sex"). I just don't think you can trust most people's numbers, not only because they will lie about them on purpose but because they honestly don't remember everything or don't think of all kinds of sexual intimacy as "SEX".
Honestly? I only hastily skimmed the post and avoided taking a close look at the comments. Not because I don't think it's a worthwhile discussion. Not because I don't want to help "represent" the feminist pornographers of the world. But because for me right now, the most feminist thing I can do is make money and be free of debt, because paying credit card companies tons of interest is totally not feminist. With that being my focus I view reading and participating in these oft-irrational discussions as a big waste of my time. I was much MUCH happier reading the Feministe post on The Golden Girls which I, of course, agree with.
WARNING: reading the following rambling may be a total waste of YOUR time, but it was highly therapeutic for me to write about it.
I've got a number of drafted blog posts and of course plenty of thoughts about sex, feminism, porn, and all that "good" stuff (or bad stuff, depending on your perspective). But I'll take this opportunity to just briefly touch on a few of my positions and answer the question, in short form, of whether or not I think the porn *I* make is feminist.
*Making money (and especially being self-employed, and especially making GOOD money, ESPECIALLY if it's better money than men are making and especially all of these things in THIS country and cultural context) is feminist. Even if you're making money on something that seems totally counterproductive to feminism.
*The interesting thing -- the KEY thing -- is acknowledging that behaviors and products (and I use that term very loosely -- could be a piece of merchandise or the end result of certain behaviors or a speech or whatever) can be feminist in some ways, and not in others. You can do something that makes feminist progress in one area, but is regressive in another. That duality is intrinsic to the movement(s) and anybody who thinks it's possible to be and live and think and affect 100% feminist is fucking delusional. Because you can't control other people's reactions. Because sometimes making progress in one direction means distancing yourself from another point on your (or the group's) carefully mapped travel plans. Because everybody has something unique to contribute, and while they might excel in one area, they won't in another. THAT'S WHY WE NEED DIFFERENT WOMEN REPRESENTING DIFFERENTLY. Because it's not feminist at all to think we all want the same things, or to demand that we pursue the same things. Because it's humanly impossible to consistently put FEMINISM before yourself all the time. Because for some of us feminism means putting OURSELVES (specifically MYSELF or YOURSELF, in your case if you are a woman) first. Because life is just way more complex than "feminist" or "not feminist".
Maybe it's like a big scavenger hunt. There are tons of things on our list, things we should have RIGHTS to. Maybe you go look for education. Maybe sister over there goes and looks for health care. Maybe another goes and looks for safety. I hope there's someone out there looking for reparations. MAYBE I WILL LOOK FOR THE MONEY. Maybe I will look for proof that my body is not YOUR body, and maybe you'll be fucking confused because you think that if I sell my body to a man that I'm violating YOURS. Maybe I will have time to hold your hand and we can find RATIONAL THOUGHT together, huh? Wouldn't that be nice. Maybe we'll all accept that we all have the right to anger, and that a lot of it is righteously directed at each other.
Maybe you have no clue how often I advocate for some of the most unpopular feminist causes and rights while I am in some of the most hostile environments for doing so in the first world. Maybe you have no idea how much thicker the leather is on my militant boots than yours and your buddies, with your unproductive running-off-at-the-mouth. Maybe you underestimate how much more effective being feminist is on this platform than on yours. Maybe I love getting ALL. FIRED. UP! Maybe that's why I suppress my work on it so often. Because that fire comes close to incapacitating me with screaming.
This is so not short or coherent the way I planned for it to be, but it's making ME feel better, and THAT is feminist.
*Do I, Trixie, make feminist porn (if such a thing exists)? I do think feminist porn exists/is possible. I totally disagree with anyone who thinks it's a contradiction in terms. At the root of that mistaken belief is a huge double standard regarding PLEASURE, but that's a topic for another time.
Many people would say, "yes, Trixie's porn is feminist". I personally would say that the the individual chunks of porn I/we make are only feminist sometimes. I will also say that I do not *want* all of the porn I make to be feminist. Because my sexuality and personality do not always cooperate with feminist ideals, nor do other people's. Because our fantasy worlds cannot and should not be bound by politics. Because sex as we experience it/feel it TRANSCENDS politics (even if it never transcends politics in reality). Because sometimes you specifically fantasize about un-feminist things because your ideals have created such intensely taboo triggers. Because it wouldn't be feminist to deny myself all of me. Because the most feminist thing I can do is MAKE MONEY and to represent myself as a feminist while I do it.
The major way my work is feminist (outside of or next to the money-making arena) is that I consistently remind people who I belong to (MYSELF) in contexts where it is unexpected. My body belongs to me. I consistently assert my will, my self-ownership, even when it is counterproductive to making sales. My work as a whole is feminist because I REFUSE TO BE A NON-PERSON or a partial person or a person only part of the time. Anybody who looks at my work as a whole (or even/often just in small parts) can see that I REPRESENT MYSELF AS A WHOLE PERSON. To an extent that I think very VERY few people, men OR women, in ANY industry or from any walk of life, are willing to do or are allowed to do or know how to do or are brave enough to do or have risked as much to do. I AM A WHOLE PERSON, and my work in porn is contained within that and presented from that place of wholeness. Being a whole person and INSISTING UPON wholeness everywhere is awesomely feminist. Paradoxically it means that I cannot BE wholly feminist or affect in feminist ways all of the time.
I could spend a lot of time describing what I mean by "a whole person", but I'll just clarify a little by saying I don't mean "perfect" or "finished" when I say "whole" On the contrary, I mean I am and deserve to be and insist upon staking my claim on IMperfection, meeting my primitive needs, fucking-up, growing sideways and in general pursuing happiness.
You *can* make feminist progress in your own life and in others' by making art that is gender conscious, class conscious, and power conscious EVEN WHEN your representations of it are stereotyped and politically incorrect (sometimes BECAUSE they are, especially if they're totally campy and over-the-top). Especially when it acts as therapy and finds meaning/truth. And MOST especially when it's presented in a broader context that is overtly or even covertly political and/or built on a feminist foundation or told by a feminist voice (even when some of those stories and characters played are distinctly NOT feminist).
I, presenting myself as a whole person, am the context. In everything I do. And I am feminist. That is the powerful truth in my life and work and someday I hope I'll be better at articulating it.
When people make fun of The Golden Girls I always experience a wave of cognitive dissonance; they dismiss it as something "old" and irrelevantly feminine when I never did and WILL never perceive it that way at all. For me? The Golden Girls was a groundbreakingly progressive, hysterically funny, humanist show. Sitcom television at its very best next to a few others on my list: Laverne & Shirley, The Office, Married with Children and maybe a couple others. In terms of sitcoms having a major inspiring influence on me, The Golden Girls might actually be unparalleled (Laverne & Shirley would be a second, though).
I watched this show with my grandparents and at the time didn't even realize how dirty, biting and often macabre the jokes were. I watch this show NOW and am amazed by how edgy it STILL is. To me, a pornographer. Suicide Girls? NOT edgy. Sex and the City? Not really edgy. Golden Girls? YOU CAN'T TOUCH THEIR EDGINESS! You can always count on Rose for some naively delivered bestiality stories or to be fucking a midget or a dead guy. One of The Golden Girls fucks a new guy in every episode, but not in that hyperfocused SATC way.
I'm guessing people who mock The Golden Girls have never watched it. If so, the reasons they mock it are telling; it MUST be bad if it's about old people and ESPECIALLY bad if it's about old people who are WOMEN. I can't abide anyone who doesn't appreciate The Golden Girls or dismisses that show with a condescending chuckle. It's like a slap in the face from someone with really bad aim; it doesn't physically hurt, but it makes my blood boil.
When we went to see Sex and the City the movie we all discussed which girl we are or which one other people think we're most like. And you know what? I'D RATHER BE A FUCKING GOLDEN GIRL. And I don't mean that as a huge dis to SATC, I really mean The Golden Girls are my idols. I believe that show was more proactively feminist than anything on network television. EVER. When I grow up? I want to be a Golden Girl. I can barely think of a higher aspiration.
We're heading out to Seattle in a bit to visit my family AND to hook up with some of Delia's family: a couple of cousins her age and her aunt and uncle visiting from the Midwest. It's going to be awkward: no one in her family is aware yet that she doesn't identify as male and is transitioning. She's going to be in drab, pretending to be a boy.
I would be more than happy to skip it except that I *really* love this particular aunt of hers (I actually really like her whole family; I haven't met these cousins yet, but I would honestly hang out with this aunt just for fun because I feel comfortable with her).
We're also boarding our dog which is something we've not done the whole time we've been together. For awhile we had an excellent dog/housesitter but she moved to California and we've not found anyone we trust since. We just had to find someplace for her to stay on this overnighter because it's summer and we can't leave her in the car nor can we always foist her on my sister and brother-in-law with their own menagerie including two-year-old more than enough for their small house. Anyway, I hope the "pet resort" is fun for her and not stressful; we're paying extra for her to have a half-hour of supervised playtime with other dogs which could be a good thing or a bad thing. She deserves some fun, though.
Time to get a move on . . . Delia has donned baseball cap, camo pants, and a Harley t-shirt to disguise her gender identity. It's kind of funny. KIND of.
Connie Francis Sings the All Time International Hits
When I was little I used to play a particular Connie Francis album (like, an actual vinyl record; they had those when I was growing up) over and over again which I've not been able to find, nor can I found on cd most of the songs that were on it which BREAKS my heart. But OH, youtube, you have allowed me to hear these songs again:
"What Now, My Love? (ET MAINTENANT)
I wish I could find a picture of the album cover because I *worshiped* her (along with the "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" girl). Just one picture of Connie Francis, a column of majestic, sensual, unsmiling beauty.
Name one contemporary pop singer who holds a CANDLE to this woman! Oh my god. And her presentation: women are not admired anymore for being regal and occupying an ageless space that doesn't smack of jailbait.
Wait! The photo from the album is displayed in the 25th second of this one (wish it was in color like on the album; her dress was pink):
"And I Love Him"
The muted trumpet in here drives me MAD with its ballsy drama:
I desperately wish this guy posted all of the songs, because there are some great ones missing. Still, I'm so jazzed to hear that voice singing these songs again. I know I LEARNED things from listening to that album, from listening to her and looking at that photograph of her.
Oh dear, here's another one that EXCITED me:
Oooh, I found the picture even if it is undersized:
Speaking of social events with a purpose, we're not going to be able to make it to this fundraiser tomorrow, but PLEASE READ about it and consider donating. Keep it on your "worthy causes" bookmarks! It provides perspective a lot of us lack (or have the luxury to not consider often) and is a necessary reminder of the thousands of ways responsible family planning is undermined and right choices are punished or made unavailable to women who are saddled with more than their fair share of costs and scary-ass consequences for getting (and not getting) abortions.
To provide some extra incentive, I will comp you a six week membership to our sites (if you want) if you donate. If you make it like a "gift" in my behalf I'll get an ecard like this (click for a suggestion on how to fill it out so I'll know you want to take me up on this):
Upon receiving the email/e-card it may take me up to 48 hours (or more if we're gone) to manually set you up, but it's a major bargain since normally six weeks of membership would cost over $30 but with this I can't tell how much you donated so you could get it for the minimum donation amount. If you would like to donate more than $30 (please do!) and be personally rewarded for it with more membership time, forward me your receipt and I will set you up with a correspondingly longer amount of time. And if you don't want a membership but you just want to brag, I'll enjoy seeing how much you donated just for fun if you feel like sharing that info.
NOTE: you are not *buying* a membership from me, you are donating money and I am personally rewarding you for it; if you are not happy with a membership to our sites understand that you don't have an opportunity for a refund and I will personally hunt you down and beat you senseless if you do a chargeback. Not that I will have the information to do that, but just pretend. Obviously if you want to buy a membership but NOT donate, you should join our sites the regular way.
There are a lot of reasons why I'd love to help this particular clinic to help women in this way, but one of the semi-senseless reasons is that it's in Tacoma which is like the hometown of my heart; I feel very connected to that place so for selfish reasons it just makes me feel more emotionally invested than if it were Portland or Tulsa or wherever. And I really like the idea of someone I know and love being made happier by helping distribute the money to help women she sees face-to-face at work.
Note: yes, I know that the title of this post could be perceived as tasteless and may not be something people want to be associated with; I am not speaking on behalf of anybody but myself here, so understand that I am in no way affiliated with the clinic, Heather is not in cahoots with me and am only drumming up donations and offering some motivation as a private entity. This message is not endorsed by the people who will benefit from your donations, mkay? If tacky title leads to page views leads to donations, I'm personally all for it, but recognize others might not like it. Also, if you are someone who assumes the porn in my site is all politically-correct and emotionally safe just because I'm pro-choice and identify as a feminist, I want to warn you that you might find some of my porn disturbing and/or offensive, particularly if you do not "consume" a lot of porn already.
An overwrought, incoherent mini-tribute to my favorite periodical and worthy cause, $pread magazine:
Do you know what it's like to go to the newsstand and see business magazines like inc. and then for a second get excited because you see a magazines for WOMEN-run businesses. But it's called something like "PINC." and you buy it even though you know absolutely nothing inside will have anything to do with the one industry that women should dominate. The sex industry (the pinkest industry). Not. One. Word. Of recognition. It's like trying to plan your own funeral in a society that doesn't have a word for death or acknowledge that everyone dies in the end. That's how crazy it seems to refuse to acknowledge the business of sex in general discussions about business, particularly businesses run by women. That's how fucking backwards and NOT progressive we are (but I'm sure most straight business-women think that IS progress, to not associate women in business with the possibility of anything remotely sexual except for harassment and victimization). The new ambitious woman is required not to be in charge of her body or to enjoy it in her off time or to use it to get ahead, but to project a consistently professional asexual image, don't you know? God forbid word leaks out that she even HAS a body underneath those clothes! No, the working woman can only advance in status by keeping her tits and pussy discretely locked away in a witness protection program; showing off our assets only serves to make them a liability. If we show them to anyone on purpose it might make it harder for us to use them to prosecute some guy later who took an uncivilized interest in them.
The world thinks that starting an ebay business selling crocheted kleenex box holders is a better, more legitimate career* for a woman than turning tricks or being a webwhore. This is unbelievably STUPID to me and it's why women who do sex work are pretty motherfucking socially isolated. Because we're not just doing a job that's hard to talk about with other people, like being a paramedic or a soldier or a nurse who attends to the dead and dying and ends and saves lives; those people are considered heroic even if no one wants to hear the truth of their jobs. Those people usually work in teams, teams that don't have to compete against each other for pay; they can talk to EACH OTHER about their work. I'm not denying that there's competition in those fields for promotions (which do equal more money) and status and I'm certainly not denying that those jobs are hard (on the contrary) nor am I trying to say that sex work is harder than those jobs; what I'm trying to say is that doing sex work can be very isolating. Not only are we discouraged by polite society from talking about our work (and even laws against talking about it in some cases), but our work itself is often against the law. Very few sex workers can talk to their family, romantic interests, or non-whore friends about our tough days at the office, and developing a sense of camaraderie with colleagues is often challenging. There's no human relations department where we can file grievances. I'm not saying these circumstances exist for all of us or are necessarily unbearable or even undesirable for a lot of us, I'm just saying that it *can* be pretty fucking lonely in ways that are fairly unique. I am really lucky that I am a hermit to begin with, my partner does the same kind of work I do, and I'm out with my family and can be fairly open with them. Plus, my brand of sex work is really safe, no-(physical)-contact stuff. Still? There are times when I realize that my friends and family have no fucking clue who I am, what I do, or what's important to me . . . and don't WANT to. There are some things that I can only talk about with other people who do the work I do. I'm sure it's the same for lawyers, priests and teachers but they HAVE networks and coffee rooms and church and professional associations. Me? I am still stunned by finding out that my sister (who I'm very close to) assumed I would want my sites taken down if/when I die. Apparently my story is something she thinks I would want erased rather than shared and preserved in all of its grotesquely intimate nakedness.
So is it weird that seeing $pread for sale at a bookstore made my heart skip a beat and a pain dive down through my innards as though I'd just unexpectedly caught sight of someone I have a big crush on? I don't know if I can explain where that intense feeling of recognition comes from and the sense of being on the verge of something life-altering, like standing in a crowd and having a beam of sunlight shine specifically down on just you, singling you out as deserving of solace and renewal. While everyone else just mills around the bookstore, you are aware of being part of a group of people witnessing and breaking through thousands and thousands of years of foul, soul-staining, isolating, life-killing bullshit.
I think it's the sensation of battle (not war) victory upon seeing a visible representation of a long line of stigmatized women's voices finally coming to be recognized and legitimized, our hiserstories written by ourselves and our concerns and specific business needs addressed. Uncensored, not twisted or misappropriated or degradingly pitied by academia and looky-loos and feminism-hoarders. Not perfect, not artsifucked, but really fucking important. Our stories. VALUED in print and for sale in public.
*Note: I mean no offense to crafty crocheters of kleenex box holders; I myself would love to know how to crochet. Plus I would never disrespect someone for honoring tissue boxes since I myself have a major kleenex fetish. I'm just reasonably sure that whoring is a more viable business than hand-crafting tissue cozies.
**Confession: I delayed posting this entry because I let my $pread subscription lapse and felt like it would make me a liar to post this without my money backing it up. Then I realized that's silly since I will resubscribe and order the back-issues I missed. And who would know this if I didn't tell them? Why am I so uptight and guilt-riddled? I also need to finish my site redesign and include more links to things and people I care about.
So The Bi Apple didn't win last night, but we had sex so that cushioned the blow (okay, having sex last night had nothing to do with the awards, but I'm trying to make meaningless connections here so bear with me).
On another positive side of groundbreaking, one of the other cool things about being in that movie is that it featured real-life couples like us (and my partner just happened to also come in handy for a guy-guy scene in addition to the one we did together ;-). I feel like pointing out that we met each other over six years ago; in September we'll have been living together for that many years. Since I was ranting about conservative attitudes towards sexuality, I feel like pointing out that as more-than-BIsexuals, as pornographers, as people with spycams, and as people who sometimes have sex with other people we have, I think, an enviably solid relationship. On top of all of those things that conservative people would consider threats to a healthy relationship, my partner doesn't identify as the same gender she presented as when I met him. Suck on that! And yes, I'm messing with her pronouns on purpose.
The funny part is that I feel like our relationship IS pretty conservative; I don't feel like our lives are wild and crazy at all. If all of those alternative-lifestyle-sounding labels fell off of us or were invisible to people, I think the the average conservative couple would look at us as shining examples of what a long-term relationship (or marriage, even though we're not) should be. But happier.
I feel like we have all of the best parts of an old-fashioned relationship; we run our own little business together and have probably spent MAYBE 30 nights apart from each other TOPS since we've been living together. It's not that we don't like spending time alone (we do that too), but we are pretty tight when the end of the day rolls around. I'm not saying our relationship has been without challenges, just that the assumptions many people would make about the health of our relationship based on our sexual preferences, gender identities, and work are probably a lot different from the reality (the reality being that we have the best, most normal, and healthiest relationship of almost every couple I know).
At the moment I am in the evil throes of PMS, so if you hear me swearing even more than usual on cam, see me looking even sloppier than usual, or notice me ripping out my hair DON'T WORRY; it will pass.
Reminder: if you miss reading the more mundane details of my daily life, you can stay up-to-the-minute with me by following my twitter OR check the daily rundown of my tweets on DailyTrixie.
Still, it's crazy that this movie (which, if you HAVE to label it as catering to either a "gay" or a "straight" audience is OBVIOUSLY better marketed towards consumers in the straight marketplace than the gay market) is being recognized at GayVN but wasn't at AVN. If I remember correctly, Dacia said AVN got rid of their "bi" category; right now I can't find any of her many posts about this matter and bisexuality in the porn industry so I can't vouch for that detail. Anyway, The Bi Apple at Gayvn is a reminder of the bizarre standards in our society (that the porn industry REFLECTS, but I don't think CREATES) that male bisexuality is rarely acknowledged as common, normal or even possible; most people still subscribe to the belief that men are either straight OR they're gay with absolutely no in-between. That attitude flies so directly in the face of common sense, plenty of research and everything that is readily observable about male sexuality that you can't deny we must have a MASSIVE agenda in suppressing the truth and perpetuating homophobia to the point where we'd rather sound totally insane in the membrane that admit most guys are wired to get off on both cock AND pussy.
I just read Augusten Burrough's Sellevision and one of the FUNNIEST things about it was his fantasy portrayal of the porn industry as an open, bi-sexy, anything-goes atmosphere which it absolutely is not. His gay male protagonist can't get a straight job anymore so he decides to try porn "acting"; when Max tours the studio it's described as one that makes BOTH gay porn and straight porn, and has performers of all orientations lounging around ready to fuck both men and women; there's the star Trixie Thunderpussy (no relation) and the male fluffer, Shaun. Max does his impromptu screen test with Rocky right on the set of "Pizza Parlor Pussy"! If only that kind of shit really happened! It was the most naive, idealized, unreal things I've ever read coming from such a jaded author and just goes to show how little people, even sexually sophisticated people, know about the porn industry. The porn industry is crazily segregated and extremely UNcomfortable with natural variations in human sexuality.
My impression of a lot of men in the porn industry is that they fancy themselves reinforcers of decency and "standards". They all think that they know what All Men Want, they all think they know what sells (if they haven't tried it or don't like it then it can't POSSIBLY be marketable). They are very intent on maintaining their perceived boundaries between false dichotomies like bad and good, gay and straight, fat and sexy, fetish and non-fetish, hairy and clean, women and men, old and young. Blurred lines horrify them and the only stuff they'll accept that pushes outside of "normal" is extreme hardcore performed on women. The only arena where they seem interested as a group in challenging accepted standards is on women's physical and human limits. Okay, we've established women can take two cocks in the ass . . . how about expanding that asshole to two cocks, a fist, a frozen turkey and a barbie doll? And now that we've found that unilaterally referring to women as either sluts or whores or both is easy AND effective how about we really push the envelope by calling them cum-dumpsters and human toilets more often? YEAH! This is really NEW and CUTTING EDGE!
We should all think it's weird and wacky that the more we are able to know about sex and human behavior, the more restrictive and willfully stupid we've become, and the more feminism progresses, the more porn (along with all other media) seeks to put us back in our traditional places. It seems obvious we're in denial and trying our hardest as a group to maintain norms that should have been blown to smithereens. As individuals I think we really need to call bullshit on each other and question our motivation for being so rigidly resistant to acknowledging basic human truths, like, ERECT PENISES MAKE PEOPLE HORNY. Duh.
Does it seem as though I just went off on a tangent, switching from bisexual porn to feminism? I wish I had the time and the brain to do a better job of connecting the dots, but it does all have to do with gender to the point where sometimes I wonder if we're afraid that if men started openly acknowledging how much they want to suck cock that we wouldn't know what women are good for anymore.
Note: I do not think porn featuring women in submissive or even degrading roles is intrinsically evil or "bad" or harmful, nor do I think people should automatically feel guilty for getting off on that; my problem is with the PREVALENCE and thoughtlessness of that type of porn to the relative exclusion of other (and often healthier/more "normal") scenarios, and the ease with which people in the industry accept it contrasted with their disdain for other types of scenes.
Anyway, I hope The Bi Apple wins; I'm going to be watching Dacia's twitter like a hawk to see the outcome.
Violence against sex workers boils down to two things: a woman who demands money for sex is a woman who is saying NO to sex without money. For all of our fancy talk and progress, our society STILL does not wholly support women's right to say NO. Our problem is not just with women charging money for sex, our problem is with women SAYING NO to sex with men unless the men meet conditions set by women.
We still do not wholeheartedly agree that women own their own bodies. We still do not wholeheartedly agree that women should have the right to determine the circumstances under which we choose to allow people access to our bodies. We still think that one woman's individual sexuality is responsible for wreaking havoc on men's behavior, on other women's happiness, and on children everywhere. We still blame individual women's sexual agency for bringing about the downfall of all that's good for the Christians' cause, for the feminists' cause and for unraveling the the moral fabric of society. We still believe women shouldn't be allowed to capitalize on natural resources the way that men do -- we fear the complete disintegration of order in our society if women are allowed to openly capitalize on and dominate the biggest demand in the marketplace.
Violence against sex workers is all about refusing women the right to NOT consent to sex; this refusal is RAPE. We're all (as a society) accessories to rape by not supporting sex worker rights.
Violence against sex workers is violence against women. Violence against sex workers is often an act of angry insistence that women are of no value except what men, their brainwashed handmaidens, certain hysterically irrational feminists, and society place on them or allow them to be, and that a woman who values her body enough to deny someone access to it unless they provide her with money or material compensation is a woman who has stepped so far out of line that she deserves to be punished or committed to the care of Concerned Women who insist no woman in her right and undamaged mind could have chosen sex work willingly.
Gary Ridgeway, The Green River Killer, did not just target prostitutes because he knew crimes against people who work the streets are harder to solve; that makes it sound like he would have been happy killing just about ANYbody when that's not the whole truth. He didn't want to and never did kill homeless veterans or women who consented to having sex with him for free. Gary Ridgeway said, "I picked prostitutes as my victims because I hate most prostitutes and I did not want to pay them for sex." That hatred of sex workers and the belief that charging money for sex is loathsome, unjustifiable, immoral, indecent, "devalues" women (the most absurd charge of all), and/or somehow dirties or corrupts a society that would otherwise be asexual outside of the bonds of married love or male ownership permeates our culture and is not unique to serial killers. Gary Ridgeway was able to talk openly with his neighbors about his desire to exterminate prostitutes without them batting a fucking eyelash; chances are you yourself have tolerated similar hate speech without objection when you would certainly have responded differently had the target of the hatred been twelve year old Catholic schoolgirls or boy scouts or soccer moms.
When people say that women's bodies and sex are SO VALUABLE and precious that it's taboo to put a real dollar amount on sex acts, they are talking irrational, brainwashed rubbish, pure and simple. Violence against sex workers is not so much about women charging money for sex as it is about women having the right to WITHHOLD sex and to define the terms under which they will CONSENT to sex. Any of us who deny sex workers the right to set the terms of consent is effectively denying ALL WOMEN their right to consent or not consent to sex. Do not tell me or any other woman that she can only have sex when she loves someone or is attracted to someone or is sex-positively horny for someone or is in the politely prized possession of a husband. Do not tell me or any other woman that she is "too good" to work in the one industry that women naturally should dominate. Do not tell me or any other woman that it's more respectable to do ANYTHING for money other than turn a trick. All of that bullshit is part of the the same belief system that claps people on the back who perpetrate violence against sex workers and says, "what you did to her? SHE'S A PIECE OF GARBAGE AND SHE FUCKING ASKED FOR IT." And that? That's part of the same belief system that enables violence against ALL women. It's also part of the same belief system that leaves women in helping professions like teaching, nursing, and mothering grossly underpaid and overworked: because women should not do the most important jobs in the world for MONEY, we should do them for LOVE. You know what that I call that? A BIG FAT CROCK OF SHIT.
If that's not enough for you to think about, here are some suggestions for behavior I think would go a long way in changing this mindset that promotes violence against all women via endorsing violence against sex workers/subverting sex workers' rights:
*Don't sit in mute and complicit witness when your friends, coworkers, acquaintances, partners, etc. use hateful speech against women and sex workers. Use peer pressure by expressing disapproval of expressions of hostility towards sex workers. Challenge them to rethink their prejudices. Tell them they sound like crazy fucking assholes. Tell them you don't want to hear that shit and walk away from them. Just do *something* instead of accepting that it's okay. Even if they respond initially with belligerence or defensiveness, it will give them food for thought and make them think twice the next time they feel like saying that. Anything you can do to break down the assumption that prostitutes and sex workers are "fair game" is a step in the right direction.
*Never, EVER, shortchange a sex worker, refuse to pay a sex worker after receiving service, demand or force a sex worker provide services she doesn't want or hasn't agreed to, or tolerate someone bragging who does any of those things. Stealing service from a sex worker IS RAPE. Also, make sure our justice system knows that assaulting or forcing a sex worker to perform or endure sex acts without meeting her (or his) terms and conditions IS RAPE, not some lesser charge (read this story for an example).
*Buy time with a sex worker. Pay your sex worker with the same respect and appreciation you give any other person who provides you with service. Hell, pay your sex worker with GREATER respect and appreciation than you'd give other service providers because sex workers do their work at greater social costs and legal risks. Act as proud of supporting your favorite sex workers as you are proud of supporting your favorite record store, restaurant, mechanic, or chiropractor.
*Let people know you support sex workers, and have the balls to say that you proudly patronize sex workers (if you do). Be vocal in your support for sex workers' rights. Let people know you think sex work is a valuable service and that women own their own bodies, are capable of making their own decisions about what to do with them, and should not be denied the right to set the conditions (and prices) to access them under their own terms. Insist that NO ONE -- not the government, not other women, not their husbands or boyfriends or jealous stalkers, and not their customers -- should tell a woman what she can or cannot do with her own body, either for free or for money.
*Think critically about sex work and prevailing attitudes towards sex workers. Question media portrayals of sex work, and do so OUT LOUD to get other people thinking and talking about it too. Ask yourself whether or not your positions on sex worker rights are consistent with your other positions on women and women's rights (example: if you believe no one should interfere in a woman's right to an abortion, why is it okay to interfere with her right to charge someone money to touch or be touched by her?).
*Recognize and publicize that not all sex work is the same while also acknowledging sex work for what it is, wherever it is (in many marriages, for example). DO NOT equate sexual slavery with sex work performed by consent. Feminists: don't get all hysterical and irrational by insisting that all sex work is intrinsically bad; it's horrible when women and girls are kidnapped, forced to act as sex slaves, are raped, assaulted and killed but you just sound like fucking morons with your inability to separate those crimes from sex work done by women who CHOOSE to do it on their own terms. EVERYTHING A WOMAN DOES WITH HER BODY OR INVITES SOMEONE ELSE TO DO WITH HER BODY SHOULD BE DONE ON HER OWN INDIVIDUAL TERMS. It is unacceptable for anyone, man or woman, to set those terms for another woman (or man).
*Read about sex work, sex worker rights, womens' rights and feminism (from as many sources/voices as possible). Be open-minded. Be rational. Decide what's right for you and let other people decide what is right for themselves. Understand that sex worker rights are a gender issue and educate yourself about other gender issues. Do what you can to understand and prevent rape (that's right, ESPECIALLY if you are a guy).
*Let your elected representatives, local law enforcement and government agencies know that you support sex worker rights and that discrimination against sex workers is intolerable and counterproductive. Have arguments handy that illustrate the perverse double standards used to regulate socially acceptable industries vs. the sex industry. Learn what a "victimless crime" is and do not tolerate people trying to turn bullshit abstractions into crime. Write to the media and complain when you read or hear biased reporting on sex work-related stories.
*Demand higher wages for ALL work traditionally viewed as "women's" work: mothering, caretaking, nursing, teaching and WHORING.
*Support womens' right to reject men. It is crucial to women's right to choose that they be allowed to choose other women as mates and be given the same rights and privileges that heterosexual partners enjoy. Women should not have to insist that they didn't "choose" to be queer and that it was all decided biologically. Lesbians should not be obligated to soothe ruffled feathers by promising that they really love and appreciate men, just not in that "special" way (even if it's true). Stopping violence against women mostly means stopping men from perpetrating that violence, and the first step in doing that is insisting that men are not ENTITLED to our bodies. The second step is making everyone believe it. We do not need to make excuses for saying no and those of us who DO say no (whether by not having sex with men, not shacking up with men, or by specifying the conditions under which they will have sex and/or specify the TYPE of sex they will have with men) should not be punished for it.
I own Sheila E.'s "Glamorous Life" cd and it's one of those discs that every so often I NEED to hear. I must have been about eleven when that video came out and on top of being fantastic just because the song was cool and everything about it was so Princely, it was influential to me because of Sheila E. and the way she "performs" in it:
I'm not talking about that one drumstick in her hand for show, I'm talking about her posture and commanding demeanor. The way she kicks that cymbal. Her snappy confidence and the tight execution of every move she makes (again, I know it's a whole Prince choreography thing, but still). And the knowledge that she actually IS a drummer, a good drummer, that was/is a big thing. That video and song aroused so many different kinds of excitement in me, I'm not sure I could number them. So now when we watch her on The Next Great American Band (go Clark Brothers!) I still have so much respect for her that I don't even bat an eyelash at her Christian evangelism.
We happened to turn on a PBS great performance thingy JUST IN TIME to see/hear Jeff Beck playing with a female bass player who looked about fourteen years old, her perky titty bouncing and framed by the curve of her instrument. In spite of that distraction it was obvious SHE IS MASSIVELY TALENTED and extraordinary (and, in fact, over 21). Her name is Tal Wilkenfeld and I am in love. This YouTube video doesn't do the sound/performance justice, but it gives you an idea of what made us stop everything and just drink her in, happy we were so lucky to change the channel just in time:
I love seeing talented women make mean, ugly faces while performing BRILLIANTLY.
It's too bad that when most people refer to something about a woman that's "tight", they aren't usually referring to her sharply, perfectly executed prodigious talent It's too bad that I couldn't stop looking at her booby. Or maybe it's just too bad that the combination of talent, voice, and physical provocation are such a challenge for many of us to process and comfortably accept in one package.
Anyway, I can't think of any recent female pop artist presenting herself the way Sheila E. did or does. Can you?
Going to stop now before I start posting buttloads of awesome "girl"-drummer vids.
A screen capture from WebWhoreHQ cam (this is what I look like right now):
Don't my boobs look . . . flat, elongated and shapeless? Don't I look like a someone with no sense of style who does love the color red and is trying unsuccessfully to have a presentable "look"? Don't I look like the kind of person who would enjoy contentedly explaining that she doesn't personally relate to the notion of gender as identity-shaping?
Do I look like I'm living a glamorous life? Do I look like a pornographer/camgirl/webwhore? Do I look like I even have a sexual life?
This would be a perfect moment to blog about a bunch of things I like to mull over and have been thinking about (and experiencing) a lot lately: aspiring to ugliness, aging, shapeshifting, the sexuality of pregnancy, my plans for my future as a working, evolving webwhore, etc. But I'm just going to continue on my contented way back into bed wearing my dorky flannel and fleece, living the good old American life.
I think we're going to fuck tonight, see.
And I think there's nothing more provocative or challenging than a woman who appears unsexy or sexless having really fantastic sex, or even enjoying just mediocre, regular sex. And having people pay to watch and listen to her do it. It's almost revolutionary, I think.
This is what I look like (right now). This is part of who I am. This is more "me" than Trixie in stockings, Trixie in corset, or Trixie in . . . wait a second, Trixie in red dress with white polka dots is as much me as fleece and flannel me is. Dual Trixie.
Haven't had sex all week except with my hitachi magic wand. Not complaining about that. But am looking forward to a nice roll in the hay tonight. Had wonderful kissing session with trans girlfriend today. I'm very happy.
I wonder how many beautiful women can say the same. I wonder how many of them would envy me versus how many would pity me my life/style.
Just wondering, not guessing. Very capable of amusing myself without reaching any conclusion. I am (and think that I look like) a woman who can amuse herself. Easily. It's called imagination, bralessness, and a forgiving elastic waistband in my pajama bottoms that allows my mind to wander free from the distraction of discomfort.
I'm editing a gallery of Delia's pictures; usually she picks through and touches up her own photos so this is a rare treat for me. There's not a lot involved in our editing process (adjusting light levels, contrast, erasing hot pixels and ingrown hairs, etc. all as needed, so on many photos we don't do anything) but we do go through every single photo individually to make these minor adjustments or to delete super-repetitive or totally worthless shots with no jack-off appeal. For me this is often a time to enjoy our work, especially when they're photos I shot rather than photos I'm *in*.
The reason I'm editing this gallery? Because Delia didn't think she wanted it on her site and thought it would be better on the houseboy site. I disagree wholeheartedly, but am glad it means the photos are in my hands now.
I guess she thinks they look too masculine; one problem with black and white photos is that they often dramatize jawbones, wrinkles, veins, hair, and all sorts of things that don't lend themselves to soft femininity. Also, she's naked in a most of the pictures and since she's not on hormones yet, her body is moderately masculine. I say that her members will still adore them. For now, her site is still marketed and named as a crossdressing site (she'll be developing a DeliaTS.com or DeliaTG.com site eventually which we'll add to our network) so we know at least some of her members ARE crossdressers who fantasize about being LIKE Delia as much as or more than they do fucking her. I'm just guessing, but I imagine it's reassuring to see her nude and occupying that grey area of gender, engaging in the familiar ritual of shaving, one of the few things a closeted guy can do regularly with minimal risk of raising suspicions. And all of those mirrors? Come on -- so loaded with a billion familiar themes.
It's amazing how much long hair or a simple bra communicates to us about someone's gender identity. Actually, it's more amazing how little is communicated by nudity and how much we "need" clues in the form of clothing to inform us whether we should relate to someone as a woman or a man. We actually don't have a lot of full nudity on any of our sites except the houseboy site, so that makes this gallery unusual since normally we focus on striptease-style sets with emphasis on familiar fetish attire like panties, tight sweaters, stockings, etc.
I'm fascinated by this transitional period we're in, Delia changing her name legally and about to go on hormones, us hoping to get pregnant. I love photos like these ones that will be reference points everyone can use to gauge her body's progress. These are before pictures (though not the beginning by any stretch of the imagination). We'll be able to look at her muscles, her jawline, her breasts, her balls, her hips, her hands, and her ass in these photos and compare them to a year or two from now when she'll have more fat.
Today we're going to try to do an outdoor shoot of Delia, and tomorrow an outdoor shoot of me. FYI: my period started yesterday and I feel GREAT. All is well and lovely. We were actually going to try to take a whole day off today, but that's not happening (though we *are* going to have a nice lunch out), nor will it happen at all this week. As a result I feel okay about watching pure buttloads of television throughout the week. Last night we developed an outline of some of the things we need to get done for/in October and I'm looking forward to tackling those things.
Anyway, I *think* Delia is coming around and will post the full set represented in these sample pictures soon. They are so not boy pictures.
Last night we watched Cruel and Unusual, a documentary profiling transgender women in American prisons.
If you want to see a movie about real people performing heroic acts, see it.
I usually feel like we're lucky enough to live in a time and place where a single person cannot lead a major rebellion or do something even remotely revolutionary. In my lifetime and country the only things described as "revolutionary" have been new tech products like the personal computer; that type of revolution is meaningless to the lower class in terms of positive change since it mostly serves to widen the gap between the haves and the majority of have-nots.
What a couple of these women did while they were incarcerated was to shed actual BLOOD to effect personal change and governmental/institutional/legal change benefiting other trans women, and, I think, genetic women too. When the prisons refused to CONTINUE hormone therapy when they jailed these people who'd already been on hormones and refused to even acknowledge there were adverse *medical* implications to their obstinance, what did these prisoners do? THEY CUT OFF THEIR DICKS AND/OR BALLS.
And laws changed.
I'd love to wax appreciative and thoughtful on these issues longer, but I'm going to leave it at that for now.
I just read a book that felt like it was all about my life, even though it's about many women and many different ways the internet is a tool for our sexual exploration: Naked on the Internet: Hookups, Downloads, and Cashing in on Internet Sexploration. To be fair, I was one of the (many) people interviewed by the author, Audacia Ray, so portions of the book ARE specifically about me and webwhoring; I guess I shouldn't act surprised that some of it speaks directly to my experiences, but for THE WHOLE ENTIRE BOOK to feel so relevant to me from page one throughout chapters that I *wasn't* interviewed for?
It is *thrilling* to hold a bundle of pages representing women's history in my hands and know that our experiences have been fairly represented and intelligently preserved by someone who knows what she's talking about and is part of this phenomenal webby wave of self-publishing, sexual agency, capitalism and more. It is *thrilling* to know that our friend wrote our stories in a way that is intimate, readable and entertaining in addition to being smart and informative. It is *thrilling* knowing this book can stand the test of time to continue telling our stories and marking our spots in history for generations to come -- because of NOTI's wide scope of coverage, Dacia's deftness in developing context without getting bogged down in boring details with expiration dates (hard to avoid when you're talking about technology), and her facility in introducing tons of people, projects and ideas in a way that breeds instant familiarity, this book is top drawer stuff for anyone now or in the future who gives even half a shit about women, our impact on the internet and its very personal impact on us.
Aside from appreciating the book's history-making, I loved reading it because it provoked an awareness in me of what I do, have done and want to keep doing; it made me reflect upon and examine my life from a more distant vantage point than I usually stop to consider (and a basic reminder of how the internet has allowed my life to be something better and very different from what it would be without it). It also accomplished something I haven't thought possible for myself in a long time; it made me feel connected to a huge group of women with common experiences.
I actually took a bunch of notes while I read the book, so I'm going to be writing a few follow-up posts sharing more personalized enthusiastic responses about stuff like immortality, cyberdildonics, personal blogging, etc.
Voyeurs: if you saw me masturbating yesterday and wondered what I was reading to fan the flames, it was a little porn-story-magazine thingy featuring guy-on-guy sex. With lots of really good drawings of gigantic cocks surrounded by sensuous big lips, horny sailors, etc.
And if you saw us fucking yesterday and wondered what was on the television that was so damned erotic, it was Notes on a Scandal. Note: I am not one of those people who romanticizes or excuses real life women (especially teachers) who fuck young boys, particularly not Mary Kay Letourneau, but that's a subject for a different blog entry. Aside from the naughty hot sex scenes, I loved the wicked narration from Judi Dench's deliciously evil character. She was like a combination of John Malkovich and Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons, Snape, and Patricia Highsmith's Ripley all rolled into one nasty bit of work.
I know we're supposed to be critical of portrayals of lesbians and older women and women in general as scary unhinged monsters, but I love and celebrate Barbara Covett and her fiendishly manipulative pursuit of female companionship and sexual pleasure. She made me hot -- best movie villain I've seen in a long time.
After my show today I spent most of my time working on a new website; I'll give you more details on that tomorrow or Tuesday. I've also been really sleepy even though I got eight hours of sleep; I needed to take a couple of naps today, probably because I got no exercise yesterday as I spent many splendid hours in bed (see above) masturbating, reading and fucking.
Some of you may be a little thrown off by the casual way I mentioned that Delia is going to phase out Tucker in favor of living en femme on a full time basis. This isn't a porn business thing, this is honestly a big life decision; my boyfriend wants to start living life as a transwoman (probably to involve hormones at some point but probably not "bottom" surgery).
I promise we'll write more about all of this later, but in the meantime I just want to say that the top priority right now is sorting through it ourselves; it's hard to blog about something when you don't really have a definite plan of action and you need to focus on quality face time with each other and figuring out how Delia will come out to family and friends.
In general it's really not as big of a bombshell as it might sound. I can't say I am 100% prepared, but I've known for a long time it was within the realm of possibility. I also can't say I don't have ANY issues or fears about this transition from boyfriend/sometimes-girlfriend to full-time girlfriend, but relative to other people's experiences and expectations this is not a really big deal except in an exciting way. For me (in terms of life changes) I would rank it at the same level as selling a house you really love and have lived in for years in order to buy a sweeter house you also love and that will work better for your family. A little stressful, a little sad, but overall a blessing and positive change. You can make your home anywhere when you're with someone you love, and I love my boygirlfriend.
I think part of why this change is feeling natural to me more than overwhelmingly scary is that my parents (especially my mom) raised me to shrug off conventions and expectations. My family was fairly unconventional with my dad and stepdad getting along well, and my dad living with my mom's parents (his ex-mother and father-in-law) long after my mom and dad divorced. Things that weren't normal for other families were totally normal for us. My mom is the type of person who genuinely thinks we should do whatever makes us happy and fuck everyone else if they have a problem with it. Again, I can't say that my family won't have ANY worries about this change, but I am lucky to have been brought up to feel comfortable defying cultural norms and to have a family I can count on to support and accept us without undue drama or shock; I mean, HELLO -- they've dealt really well with me being a pornographer/virtual sex worker so this might be small beans in comparison. I'm pretty sure both my mom and sister are prepared for the news (which we haven't exactly given them yet since the news is really REALLY new and I think we want to talk about it in person).
As far as our websites go, we'll probably take this opportunity to make them a network in the near future (join one, you get access to them all) since we won't be able to keep TrixiesHouseboy.com going forever as-is but still want to keep it alive and accessible (and probably morph it into a multi-guy site as we get more resources). Also, Delia will no longer be "just" a crossdresser as the domain DeliaCD.com implies, so she'll also be transitioning to a new domain with a slightly different approach, but of course we'll want her members to be able to get access to all of the CD site stuff, too. I've actually been wanting for a long time to make all of our stuff available to all members regardless of which site interests them most, since I really like showing off ALL of it as one body of work even though it's more sensible to market each persona individually. I'm not totally sure when this will happen but it might be soon (and later lead to revamping the format of our members-only areas to reflect the all-inclusive approach).
Anyway, I want to be careful to remind people that when I talk about Delia's transition I can only talk about it from MY perspective; there's a limit to how much I can know and understand what she's feeling, hoping and experiencing. Even though we are going through this as a couple, she's also going through it as an individual (same for me) and I think those could all be pretty distinctive journeys and not one of us really knows for sure where we'll end up. Happy and together are what I'm aiming for.
Here we are midway through the trans-people conference (not its official name). Most attendees to this particular convention are male crossdressers and male-to-female transsexuals. There are also a lot of significant others (chicks like me). As I expected, it's an older crowd. In fact, there are a lot of ladies here in their seventies, and they are inspiring. Here I am, a "genuine girl" in her thirties who is too lazy to dress up and go out and too frightened to wear high heels and actually *walk* anywhere, while these gals are middle-aged to elderly and so excited about wearing feminine accoutrements in public they are ready to paint the town in high heels, falsies, and mini-skirts.
One of the coolest things about being here is getting to show off Delia. Of course I'm biased, but I think she's the hottest girl here. She is getting a lot of nice compliments and admiration, and not simply because she's got a perfect kisser and long legs; she's getting compliments on her style, "presentation" and class.
I myself have gotten advice. More than one lady insisted I must marry Delia (preferably before the year is out), and one of the significant others told me I need to have kids. About six of them. Normally I'd find this kind of advice annoying, but this week I feel receptive enough to see morsels of wisdom in both suggestions.
The conference is being held in a small city near ours but is even deeper into redneck logger territory which makes for some interesting dynamics. Here you have a general population that wouldn't naturally be knowledgeable of or receptive to transgender people but for years have hosted this conference and perhaps have BECOME better informed and especially more tolerant in large part because they're getting paid. The conference has become a reliable source of revenue for many small business owners over here so they are extremely nice and hospitable. The local media and I imagine the chamber of commerce seems to have tried to train the locals over the years to know what to expect and to be nice.
Of course, there are still some people (ahem, teenaged boys and assorted ugly men) to be wary of. It's hard for me (always is) to find a balance between submitting to people's bullshit and antagonizing it. It's not in my nature to turn the other cheek when someone harasses my girlfriend on the street; ignoring overt rudeness seems like acceptance to me and that barfs me out. I don't have ridiculously high standards of politeness so I think it's understandable when people stare at anyone who looks different. Fuck, I love staring at people myself. But staring with a wide open mouth and turning around to keep staring after you've passed by before audibly making idiotic remarks? That's some fucked up shit.
Most people (grownups, children, and men without insecurities) have been nice or at least normal, but in addition to potential insults there's another worrisome aspect of walking around in public with your boyfriend when he's wearing women's clothes and makeup: DANGER. It's scary enough to be a woman, but being a man acting like a woman? That adds a whole other layer of vulnerability onto a stroll through the streets. A man in drag really seems to be perceived by some people as a direct confrontation or affront to all of their hick values while other people perceive it as an invitation. I feel like there are enough people out there ready to justify their actions with a "you asked for it" defense that it's seriously risky to go out in public like this, even with a whole convention of trannies roaming the town.
Today's scary incident? I *knew* I should have walked Delia all the way back to the hotel room, but instead I left her a block and parking lot away from our door so I could get a coffee. I saw the black guy getting out of his old grey Mercedes and felt like he may have been the same guy who craned his neck to look at Delia the other day but I went to get my coffee anyway.
When I got back to the room Delia was a little shaken up and told me that this guy followed her through the parking lot and up the stairs to our room without her realizing it until he knocked on the door. She opened it with the latch on and the guy told her he was from out of town and wondered if she knew any good places to go to just "chill". Sort of a normal way to hit on someone hot IF YOU HADN'T JUST STALKED HER THROUGH A PARKING LOT TO FIND OUT WHERE HER ROOM IS. Then he asked if she had a boyfriend, and Delia adamantly stated that she did -- and a girlfriend too -- at which time the guy turned tail and left.
Welcome to the club, Delia. You've just been initiated into the International Order of Vagina Owners.
This is the club where you don't know if someone is misguided or actually predatory. You don't know if you should laugh it off or call the cops. You don't know if you should change rooms so he doesn't come back in the middle of the night or if you should just never go out again at all. This is the club where you second-guess everything because you don't want to blow something out of proportion, but you also don't want to get raped or worse.
On the other hand, men who are used to hitting on strangers with dicks probably have a fair amount of luck with this uncouth approach. There are entire city parks with ample roving cocksuckers to prove it. Guys hitting on guys seem to play from a different rulebook and Delia said that this fellow didn't act aggressive or scary (apart from the whole stalking her through the parking lot to our room thing which is sort of hard for me to write off as a totally innocent mistake even though he'd have to be CRAZY if he meant any harm to do that in broad daylight as a black guy who kind of sticks out like a sore thumb in this neck of the woods). He probably was too nervous to approach her on the street like a normal person where everyone could see him hitting on her so maybe that's why he followed her to a more discreet location. Or maybe he just thought he'd have a better chance of getting laid if he propositioned her in close proximity to a bed. Who knows? I guess that's the danger right there: who the fuck knows??
I admit it: sometimes I'm mesmerized by images of my own breasts. I love the shapes, colors, and textures in this little screen grab from a video I posted today. It's a flattering image; they look pretty near perfect to me. Okay, I'm lying. They look totally fucking perfect to me as far as big ones go.
We just got home from a long day of shopping in preparation for a conference we're going to next week. It's for transgendered people and their significant others. I'm excited about it; I like structured events with classes and stuff, and I can't wait to find out how to refine my "identi-T". It's not a swingers' convention or a porn conference or any of that, though, so don't expect us to come home with any wild or crazy stories; in fact, we're both a little apprehensive about how we'll be perceived as a couple with porn sites. There's a distinct probability that a lot of people there will have issues with that or be suspicious of us because of it so we'll not be wearing t-shirts with our domain names printed on them, but our sites ARE part of our "identi-T's" so we're also not going to avoid talking about what we do.
Right now is one of those moments when I am IN LOVE with my job, my boyfriend, my life and even myself. Pictures like these ones give me an idea of just how good things are and could be with a little more effort. It all seemed wonderfully synchronous to wind up with such retro sets right while I was reading James Ellroy and my mom's house always turns out great light and ambiance.
I know Delia probably won't be as excited about the black and white set as I am because of the harsher less-feminine lines and shadows, but as far as interesting PHOTOS go they are so much fun to look at. Of course, I wind up criticizing the baseboard heater and radios in the background that are from later eras. I always wonder what it would be like to shoot for a couple of hours and only try to get between one and ten really GREAT photos instead of trying to get 75-150 pics designed to lead to a thorough jack-off fantasy. I suppose we could find out, but I'm not really that curious to work it into our schedule.
What I'm more curious about is how cool it would be to invest in a fixer-upper without having any financial pressure to actually fix it up fast; the idea of having an older home that's kind of trashed out with texture to shoot in really appeals to me. Being able to do messy paintjobs and wacky shit without worrying about "ruining" the house would rock. I suppose first we have to be able to afford a house we can actually LIVE in, though.
I think it's "funny" that they try to avoid pointing out that it's a male who did it. AGAIN. I mean, you can count on one hand the number of females who go on shooting sprees, but no one bothers to ask themselves why that is. Instead we just accept that guys dominate violent crime while we very pointedly avoid any attempt to acknowledge the obvious (that might mean we'd have to question gender roles, right, and we don't want any of THAT).
On the one hand, I suppose not even bothering to mention another boy/man shot up a school shows that WE ALL KNOW it's guys who do this stuff, but the problem I see is that no one is willing to ask themselves WHY it's boys and men who do it. Seriously, if you aren't "into" gender issues and looking for that kind of questioning coverage of the news, you aren't going to see or hear it mentioned at all. THAT'S A PROBLEM. Maybe *the* problem. Let's all pretend that this has nothing to do with how we raise little boys!
In my whole life I have only heard one story in what could only vaguely be considered mainstream media (on NPR) talking about gender and school shootings and trying to offer insight and solutions. I know that a lot of people "get it" and many folks reading my blog are among those getting it, but the general population? That's what I worry about.
Imagine being a girl and working really hard to earn the reputation of a respected voice in the world of tech journalism and blogging -- a world populated by disproportionately more men than women -- and to find yourself the target object of a hate-filled Web site. The tone and content of the hate site centers around sexually threatening you, suggesting ways you could be killed and have your corpse defiled, stating that you are a 'slut' and that your gender is also in question. Your straight male colleagues don't have this problem.
I've had some horrible things said to me online as a webwhore, but honestly NOTHING as calculated and fanatical as the venom of these people tormenting female tech bloggers. Of course, when I *do* get trolled it's almost always in response to something I've done or said that challenges gender roles or people's religious or political beliefs. Fucking Tucker with a strap-on, for example, set off my only vehement stalker/critic who carried on for years with his fantasy of how my dad must have "tickled my taco" and turned me into a depraved ass-raping lunatic. I also get a considerable amount of freaking-out and hostile chatter from the peanut gallery during my group shows when I have the AUDACITY to, you know, SPEAK rather than moan like a sick whale while spreading my holes. Hearing a camgirl talk about current events really pisses off a lot of guys. I can totally understand if it frustrates a person looking for pure porn and they don't want to stay and listen to the chatter, but the level of anger these guys spew because a woman DARED to stray out of fuckhole-mode reaches beyond mere frustration and into the realm of a virtual lynching where they are trying to punish me for stepping out of line.
Reading this article makes me realize how much safer I am in certain respects as a webWHORE than as a woman trying to make it in a "legit" male-dominated industry. It's scary. SCARY! I have to admit that I actually think the Kathy chick got a little carried away over that panty-face photochop, though. It's hard to say since I didn't see it in context, but on its own I have a hard time imagining I'd be afraid to leave my yard because of it or anything said with a similar tone. On porn "webmaster" boards we hear the same kind of violent misogynistic crap-spewing and it never really occurred to me to not attend a webmaster conference because of the things those people say and obviously THINK about women. It's not that I don't think those people are potentially dangerous, it's that I THINK MOST MEN ARE POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS. Everywhere. Anywhere. I don't need to read their anonymous internet posts and comments to suddenly be clued into that truth -- I've known it my whole life. Women have every reason to be afraid whenever they are alone in a strange place or in the company of strange men or even men they think they know really well. Do you really need to have someone post a picture of you with a photoshopped noose around your neck for you to feel threatened? Fuck, I feel threatened just walking to and from the grocery store alone.
I'm not trying to downplay the severity of the very personal threats to these women, I'm just saying that all. women. are. in danger. all. of the time. The fact that any of us are surprised when these threats come to light sort of boggles my mind. Still, the format of these threats to these bloggers along with what triggered them is very telling and worthy of attention.
Hmmm. I keep coming back to this entry to edit it and have to do it again after following more of the links and reading more of the context and, well, HMMMMMMmmmmm. I have a hard time relating to some of the dramatic responses to some of the heckling. When it comes to putting people's families in jeopardy by destroying their privacy or sending harrassing and explicitly threatening emails I think that is criminal. But having the police say that a photoshopped picture of a woman with panties over her face is an overt physical threat is going WAY too far.
It's only the second time we've paid for porn via DirecTV; the first time I tried being frugal and ordered one of the cheapest movies I could find; of course, it sucked, mainly because the action and talent didn't at all match the description and title. Annoying! So this time I splurged on a movie with a standard price ($10.99) and a title that I thought would mean I couldn't go wrong: Ghetto Booty XXL Volume 2.
The description ("pretty girls make men smile") didn't provide any indication what kind of action we'd find, so I hoped there would be a lot of taunting booty-clapping, jiggling, walking and dancing before any sex took place. Of course, I was almost completely wrong. If I'm paying to see a girl's ass, why would I want to see 20 seconds of it and then two minutes of her pussy VIEWED FROM THE FRONT? I want to see it from behind -- hello! If I'm paying to see a girl's ass, why in the world would I want to see a blowjob in every single scene? And why in the world would every single scene culminate in a cumshot to the face or delivered on the tongue instead of shot all over the ghetto booty I obviously want to see? I totally don't get it. I love blowjobs and all, but it's disappointing when you were anticipating lots of ass, not lots of head. I am so sick of the ubiquitous hurried facials, particularly when there are more obvious and convenient places to shoot a load (like, on someone's ass when the people buying the movie obviously LIKE asses).
Obviously we need to research our purchases a little bit more instead of hoping for the best based on the inane descriptions provided on the tv guide; these kinds of mistakes make it clearer to me why some porn consumers become porn collectors and develop a certain level of expertise regarding their favorite performers, studios, etc. You really have to do some homework to find porn that delivers what you like best.
I'd say that 85% of the moving-picture porn I've rented or purchased in my life has been a disappointment. I don't mean that I have high standards and was expecting greatness, I mean it was either totally boring and/or an actual turn-OFF. The kind of stuff where you practically have to force yourself to masturbate to it just so you feel like you're getting your money's worth. That's really saying a lot considering I've happily masturbated to images of FRUIT on a pbs gardening program.
A couple of the biggest turn-offs for me in this Ghetto Booty movie are the same things that turn me off in most porn: unlubricated pussies being fucked and unprotected sex. Nothing turns me off more than seeing a cock shoved into a dry pussy. I fucking HATE it. Lube is not that expensive so BUY SOME AND USE IT. Oh, I know that a lot of guys freak out when lube is used because they think it's an admission of non-arousal, but isn't the bone-dry pussy and the talent's totally bored expression and faked moans a tip-off? Are guys really able to convince themselves porn performer's are totally into it UNLESS a bottle of lube is introduced and then the whole illusion is destroyed? And as far as unprotected sex goes, I actually do get more aroused watching people fuck without condoms BUT I just wish they would say something at the beginning to assure us that the people were tested and stuff. Maybe it's a chick thing, but I worry about those girls, particularly when they are being FUCKED DRY which makes risky sex even riskier. I find myself sympathizing with the pain the performers are enduring and worrying about their safety rather than being aroused, and it's not just because they are women -- I feel the same way seeing men fucked up the ass without condoms or lube, or having their penises mauled by insensitive hands or teeth. And honestly it's not that I don't like watching certain kinds of rough sex (gagging, choking, spanking, etc), but pointless pain in vanilla engagements just makes me feel so chapped and tense.
I think a lot of women feel the same way I do about stupid-things-in-porn and it could be one of the many and complex reasons women get upset when their male partners enjoy porn so much; how is it that men can enjoy porn without their empathy getting in the way? THOSE ARE DRY PUSSIES!! Isn't that anti-erotic to them? Isn't it a turn off knowing that person is in pain? And don't tell me just because guys don't have their own pussies that they can't recognize genuine pain when the performer is saying "Owww!" and cringing when a big fat dick is stuffed in her DRY PUSSY. For a lot of wives and girlfriends it can be really upsetting to suspect that maybe your boyfriend or husband is turned on by things that cause women pain, like, you know -- DRY PUSSY. Or that maybe he's too stupid to notice it or just completely lacks the empathy or imagination to give a shit. Fortunately I have never been in a relationship with a guy who was turned on by dry pussy (I think Tucker was even more bored watching Ghetto Booty than I was), but the fact that this dry-pussy porn sells and is so rampant does make me view men-in-general with a high degree of suspicion and anger.
On the other hand, I think a lot of men just tolerate bad porn rather than lauding it as great; they recognize it's lame but hey -- there aren't a lot of alternatives and it still "works" for them, so even though they might understand that it's fucked up and prefer something better, they just take what's provided. Still, I know that a whole lot of guys honestly *don't* have any empathy or understanding of what they're watching, and I know this because I deal with them by the thousands in group shows (and observe them in other people's shows). The things many of them say indicate to me that they are dangerously ignorant and devoid of compassion. I can understand why some women get all crazy-mad about porn, then, when it brings out some major character flaws in men. Too bad most women who do get all crazy-mad about porn can't articulate (or are unwilling to recognize) what the REAL problems are (men being encouraged to be totally ignorant of women's bodies, not having empathy for others, etc.) and instead like to pretend that PORN MAKES MEN that way; they like to pretend that if we got rid of porn and all the women who make money in porn, then men would be perfect little angels!! Good luck, you stupid bitches.
I really would rather spend money on internet porn paysite memberships rather than whole movies, but we don't have a fancy setup to watch internet porn on a computer hooked up to television in our bedroom; our computers don't have big monitors and they're not anywhere near a bed so if Tucker and I are going to watch porn together (or alone in a comfortable bed), it has to be on dvd, vhs, or ordered via satellite. It's kind of amazing how cheap internet porn is compared to buying one movie at a time. I guess if I want to get serious about consuming porn myself, we're going to have to upgrade our bedroom's "entertainment center" to include whatever-we-need to view internet stuff on tv, or get a big monitor and another computer or wireless or whatever-the-hell people do nowadays. I'm so behind-the-times.
I lucked out with a couple of book choices perfect for cozy winter reading:
The Historian Fun and readable without being insultingly stupid (ahem, Anne Rice); richly-detailed escapist fun for grown-ups. I enjoyed almost every bit of it.
The Crimson Petal and the White Yes, I love reading books about smelly Victorian whores. While this one initially put me off with its contrived narrative style, by the time I got halfway through I elevated it to a position right next to Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All for being too-damned-compelling-of-a-story-about-women-to-have-been-written-by-a-fucking-man.
I also had to reread The Shipping News. Because reading about Really Cold Places is so so much fun when you're tucked into bed with a hot water bottle on your feet and a steamy mug of tea in your hand. I might not read this book again, though, because it seemed almost too sappy this time around and I don't want to totally suck all of the magic out of it.
I'm getting bored with fiction but, for a good long while now, I've resisted reading most nonfiction that interests me. Why? Because the amount of reading time I have right now is meant to relax me and take my mind off work. If I read nonfiction I wind up working instead of escaping, and also feeling like I'm not doing enough; I should be taking notes! I should be writing! I should be remembering every detail! I should be making flash cards (seriously)! I should be smarter! I should read MORE! I should blah blah blah blah blah. When I read nonfiction it doesn't help me fall asleep, it just sends my brain on hyperactive adventures following intriguingly twisted trains of thought. And I totally don't have time for that. It's like I have to save all of that for when I have more time/money, or I think that I do because I'm not able to read books straight through without feeling compelled to DO SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT I'M READING and remember way more than I inevitably do (which is not very much in terms of details; the ideas stick with me but most of the details -- names especially -- just don't). I worry that if I don't take notes I'll forget where I learned these ideas and someday won't give proper credit to their sources. Yes, I am totally anal and riddled with anxiety over silly things.
So. My plan is to find some nonfiction that doesn't EXCITE me -- subjects that don't focus on things that totally fascinate me a whole lot or that I don't find super-relevant to what I do now, what I might do in the future, or have done in the past. But I'll try not to avoid those things like the plague, too. It's very sad that I have so many books on my shelves that I'm "saving" because I don't think I have time or energy or even just the brain-power to enjoy reading them. But you would be amazed at the way I can make virtually EVERYTHING seem super-relevant to things I care about.
The other problem is I really need to start learning new things again. Because I need to learn more useless trivia so I can perform better at solving crossword puzzles. Since I left college I have learned a lot, sure, but it's been practical stuff, stuff about my body, stuff about how to be happier, stuff about people -- on-the-job training type of stuff. I think I'm stagnating!!!
Anyway -- if you have any recs for intriguing (yet totally useless) nonfiction (especially if it could enhance crossword puzzle performance without keeping me up at night), make your suggestions in comments. I'm thinking more biographies are in order since they usually have a story about one person set against a backdrop of jolly historical details that I really don't *need* to remember (but if I *do* those details could, you know, help me with crossword puzzles).
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 . . .
SLEEPY GOOD I can't think straight right now -- can't decide what things to write about and what things to leave out, what things to do and what things to wait on. So I'll just give you a picture and let you know that the day the picture was taken (yesterday) was one of the horniest I've ever experienced.
Houseboy and I had a frustrating experience the night before with me trying to take pictures of him but initially failing due to my disappointment with myself in not even understanding my own stupid camera. I really wanted to take pictures of him in his spectacles but the fucking lights were reflecting off of them and without the lights shining on him everything was too dark. Anyway, enough of the frustrating part. He kept his good humour and pretty much made it impossible for me to just quit and go to bed . . . so we wound up with a pretty good set of pictures of him and . . . even sexier I got to videotape him jacking off. I cannot even describe how much of a dream come true this is, just getting to watch a guy jack off in real life and not be allowed to do anything about it. Since houseboy's site will be friendly for all audiences (male or female), there's no need to throw me in the mix every single time -- he needs some sexy solo content. Anyway, then yesterday houseboy took pics of me (see above) and I took pics of him . . . and another video. I almost wept from being so excited standing behind the camera while he jacked off. OH god yum. What a perfect tease!!
I absolutely love being the voyeur instead of the performer/participant/exhibitionist. And it's not just because I do it all the time for work . . . it's because the role of voyeur comes much more naturally to me than the role of exhibitionist. Most of my seemingly exhibitionistic behaviors are rooted more in my imaginings of what someone would be feeling by voyeuring me.
One of the most fascinating things happened when houseboy and I were looking through the pictures I took of him . . . looking at beautiful image after beautiful image of him on the monitor somehow he became somebody distant and celebrity-like. Staring at his still smiling/pouting/flirting sultry images I just absolutely marveled at his perfection . . . and I thought about how hysterically women will idolize beautiful sexy men (like Elvis and Tom Jones). I have always been fascinated by that panty-throwing/fainting/screaming phenomenon. I don't know if men are capable of that kind of senseless maddening worship the way women are. Part of it is arousal, sure, but it's much more all-being-encompassing than simple sexual arousal. It's like your mind, body and spirit are completely driven by intense brainwashed excitement. I seriously felt myself approaching that kind of hysteria with him yesterday . . . staring at the computer houseboy pictures for so long then finally turning around and looking at the real houseboy standing before me, SO gorgeous I tried to explain "it" (this wacky celebrity worship thing) to him . . . and just as I was reaching for the words he took a step towards me and was almost touching me and I truly felt my guts dropping and my entire face lighting up as though STAR STRUCK . . . ohmygodohmygod it's really him!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!(insert hair pulling face squishing jumping up and down wetting pants screaming)AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! He's going to touch me oh my god it's HIM!!!!!! I didn't know whether to jump into his arms or take a step back!! It was the wackiest feeling! Silly and totally ridiculous, but I felt it anyway.
Anyway, if you want to see just one of the tame pictures of my the "object" of my hysteria, I think that houseboy is publishing one in his journal momentarily.