On the walk Delia and I took today, she took these pictures:
Afterwards we had burgers and fries at our favorite place for that, eating in the WARM car. I think I might have even gotten a sunburn on my face.
While we were there I saw a woman get out of her car with her soft white belly peeking out where her flannel shirt opened up and I wanted to press my hands my cheek my own belly against it. So delicious.
So SO happy. The sun is out … and actually rubbing warmth across my shoulders, neck, back & scalp. pic.twitter.com/jprsxCUWtH
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 10, 2014
I’m standing funny like an alien creature who was just beamed down in a sunray in the picture above; my thighs actually DO touch / I do NOT have a “thigh gap” . . . at least, not anymore.
But I used to. Not because I *wanted* to, but because that’s the way I was built. With skinny fucking legs and arms. I guess I’m one of the “lucky” ones (or at least my peers were) by today’s standards of “you’re not real if you’re skinny” because I grew up thinking being thin was yucky, unattractive, weird, sickly, etc. I grew up being made fun of for it. And not just with friendly ribbing, but with actual SNEERS. Was it as bad as if I’d grown up “fat”? FUCK NO. I’m sure I wasn’t teased or sneered at as much as people of size. But being skinny wasn’t something I aspired to; it was a curse as far as I knew. My mom even took me all the way in to Children’s Orthopedic Hospital when I was in junior high to make sure I wasn’t malnourished or whatever, and made me start drinking weight-gain shakes.
I went to a small school – there were less than a hundred people in my graduating class. In a school that small, it’s pretty easy to be on one or more of the sports teams and actually get to play a lot . . . so the vast majority of your classmates are going to be ATHLETIC. Athletic bodies were the popular norm in my class, especially shorter, stockier bodies. The hardy 4-H types.
I was a teenager in the eighties. I admired all kinds of legs, including my own sometimes in spite of their relative shapelessness. There were no internet thinspo memes. I’d never heard of “thigh gap” and never fucking THOUGHT about it. Until I was maybe sixteen or seventeen, visiting one of my soccer-volleyball-basketball-softball-playing friends.
I must have been wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a halter, and I vividly remember standing on her family’s half-finished deck and her POINTING to my thighs and BURSTING into laughter: OH MY GOD YOUR THIGHS DON’T TOUCH!!
I was like, “what are you talking about?”
YOUR LEGS!! THEY GO ALL THE WAY UP WITHOUT EVER TOUCHING IN THE MIDDLE!!! LOOK!! PUT YOUR KNEES TOGETHER . . . LOOK!!
It was like she wished she could summon every normal person our age to stare at my freakish body.
I don’t remember now if that came before or after she pointed at my belly and laughed at IT, too, telling me how much I needed to do some situps.
To her mind, I think my body represented flaccid nerdy weakness. Not totally off the mark, either. Our boobs were pretty much exactly the same, though.
I don’t think I can say I ever experienced anything qualifying as “bullying”, so I’m not relating this story for anybody to feel sorry for me . . . just talking about legs and stuff. And how even just a little teasing can suck pretty bad. Fortunately I thought her standards of what is and isn’t attractive were extremely narrow and unsophisticated; I remember going to see Indecent Proposal with her when it came out. Of course I said I would have happily taken Robert Redford up on his offer, but she was like, “ewwww gross . . . he’s so old.” What a weirdo.
Do I want thigh gap again? FUCK NO. I do wonder if my experience in my body as a teenager would have been different if I’d have thought I’d been born with something other girls were trying to “achieve”, but I’m pretty sure it would have been mostly-unhealthy for me to grow up with the internet as it is today. I doubt I’d have wasted time trying to perfect my thigh gap, and would have instead opted for meeting “old” dudes who would pay to sniff my panties or something. Who knows, though. I’m just glad I survived those years and did so without the mass media deluge and worldwide pressures people have now.
Want to get an idea of what I looked like as a teenager? JOIN MY SITE and visit this (non-nude, NOT pornographic or sexual) gallery of candid pictures from school dances, etc.
Already experiencing many rewards after my embarrassingly-inelegant yet much-needed exit from Girlfriend-land.
Healthy relaxing time alone, healthy relaxing time with others . . . and getting to freely celebrate surprise news Delia and I just got tonight of an upcoming visit with someone lovely who we have unfinished pleasurable business with, WITHOUT the looming dread of it sparking expressed jealousy and/or tense negotiations and emotional processing with someone else.
It’s kind of like a do-over. AND WE ARE GOING TO DO IT OVER REALLY FUCKING GOOD!
This day was a sad pathetic fucking relief.
I am so fucking lucky: another bullet dodged, but not without shaving some hair off in the process.
If I forget: remind me not to play with guns or loose cannons anymore. Remind me not to BE one.
If the little tastes of yuck I’ve gotten in life feel this gross to me, I don’t know how people deal with the big yucks. I guess they mostly don’t, which is how we wind up here.
Tucked into cabin loft alone, window behind my head open, rain making hundreds of different noises above, around & below me. #happy
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 5, 2014
And less than 2 hours after falling asleep I painfully finally drag myself out of horrible fucking nightmare. I hate my brain sometimes.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 5, 2014
The rain that sounded magical and comfortingly enveloping at 3 am turned into the soundtrack for a nightmare over the next two hours. In my sleep I could hear voices outside, knocking, scratching, beating all around and against and underneath my little shelter. I dreamt I woke up and knew the voices belonged to at least one person who was violently mad at me. I got my phone to try to get ready to call for help, but of course my phone was sluggish and unresponsive. And then his punishing arms reached through the window and I couldn’t get far enough away, they were getting longer and his hands on my neck and I couldn’t breathe and his head came through the window at me.
Then I woke up for real, gasping for air, SWEATING . . . trying to find the volume knob to turn off the surround-sound percussion instruments, but I couldn’t turn them off because it was the heavy rain on my metal roof and on the wood outside and against the skylight. And an animal scratching under the floor, under the toilet when I went pee in the dark. And a Navy jet flying low and fast and noisy because we live out here and can’t do anything to protect our freedom from military noise without being unpatriotic. And a cement-mixer or brush-cutter or street-cleaner humming and rumbling ominously blocks away.
And a bird at 6 am when I finally let myself go back to sleep.
I wish I still had Klonopin to stop me from dreaming too much. Part of the reason I had this heavy dreaming last night is because I hadn’t had enough sleep the night before and was up too late, plus I didn’t smoke. I *did* take GABA which I rarely do, so not sure if that contributed to it, or if being potassium deficient alters the effects of GABA.
We have the nicest bed ever in Seattle. It’s the best bed I’ve ever slept in, and definitely the fanciest Delia and I have ever owned. We got a super firm mattress. It feels ginormous to me.
We’ll have to revisit this in other pictures so you can see the entire bed to appreciate the scale of it relative to the scale of my human body.
No I didn’t stage these pics – it’s just winter with spring coming and folks are stripping off their mittens and gloves and then they fall out of their pockets.
No nudie pic because I like to take some time off with the dark / new moon AND because this.
New moon in Pisces | day 36 of my cycle became day 1 | I rode the ferry back to Seattle.
At The Neptune, which used to be a movie theatre where I think I saw either The Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi with my family . . . or maybe I’m thinking of The Coliseum (maybe my mom remembers and will tell me):
It’s good to be in front especially when people can actually play instruments for real. My favorite parts were their longer bluegrass solos and woogier progressive instrumental jams, especially when the bass vibrated our chests.
I thought their opening band (Tumbleweed Wanderers) had a great repertoire of songs that were perfectly accessible without being specifically familiar with them at all.
***** probably going to regret posting this but anyway: *****
The population of our home for the past twelve years is notably older. The median age is 53 years old. So walking around Seattle’s University District was BIZARRE for me. I never spent time there, for one, but when I did go there (just to see movies) I was that age. Now I’m TWICE that age. It was all very alien and adorable, like being on a movie set where all of the extras don’t even know that they’re in a movie and just think they’re at camp or something. That is how far removed I am from college populations.
Sweet Jesus I have't been amongst crowds of certain populations (college kids?) in such a long time it's like I'm on an alien planet. Cute!
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 2, 2014
I know some of you imagine my wife and I enjoying it like cougars on the prowl, but I don’t feel that way at all (except for times like this and stuff). I feel more of an arms-length kind of respect and appreciation for younger people (which is probably just as disrespectful as an exploitative feeling would be, and just rooted in being isolated from large and diverse crowds of people for so long partly due to location but also my tendency to avoid spending time around lots of people). My feeling when I see folks in the meatworld in their teens and twenties is admiration, happiness and relief, and a mixture of “very nice & cute & lovely / but not for me / and so glad I don’t have to be that age again”.
I’m still uncertain about shooting porn or having recreational sex with people of that age. I remember young men and women in their late teens and early twenties thinking I was an “older woman” when I was only 26, 27, 28ish. Now that we’re in our forties there’s no question about it – we are their parents’ ages at a time when the difference between a freshman and a senior is HUGE to many of them.
Yes, I think they’re sexually delicious when I look at pictures and porn, but I’m not sure if I can feel that way about them in real life. I think the protective THOSE-YOUNG-PEOPLE-ARE-NOT-FOR-DIRTY-OLD-MEN feelings might be too strong for me to overcome. Which is somewhat condescending, I know, and also probably a function of wanting to maintain the erotic taboo of objectifying them as fantasy masturbation fodder and playing WAY too much into the (lack of) age factor.
Basically: I kind of feel gross about myself either way I slice it.
I’d feel better about it if we were rich enough to shower them with money. That is the only decent way to be indecent (and not in a shitty I-own-you way now let me tell you how to live your life blah blah blah, but in a genuinely appreciative way that recognizes YOU ARE LUCKY TO HAVE THE FIRM YOUNG FLESH EXPOSED TO YOUR DIRTY EXPLOITATIVE EYES kind of way). Of course I think forty-something women should be similarly worshiped, though.
I’m probably making WAY too much out of something that is healthiest when it’s not treated like a big deal or any of my business to worry about. Except that it IS my business as a pornographer (who also loves kinky-yet-old-fashioned role plays) to make big deals out of milking every little potential sexy hot button I possibly can, and agonizing over the horribly compelling naughty juiciness of hot college pussy and painfully-rigid unwilting boy cock to soft experienced women of my age and all of the men who pay money to jack off looking at the things we get to do with ourselves and allllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll of the people out there who want to fuck us.
Louie / SO OLD / duh young pussy smells good:
So maybe I should go ahead and make dates with all of these boys who want to pretend I’m their mommy. Including the one who has a picture on his dating profile with his friend who I’m pretty sure is a kid I actually saw being born / coming out of MY friend’s vagina a couple of decades ago.
And I can impress them by being SO OLD that I saw the very first Star Wars movie when it first came out . . . AT A DRIVE-IN.
At the concert I had the TOTALLY APPROPRIATELY CENSORED pleasure of standing at the stage next to a super cute SELF-POSSESSED articulate SOBER young lady (with awesome boobs stretching out her t-shirt). And all I wanted to do was make sure she got home or back to her dorm safely and had a nice night out on her own without anybody fucking with her. Because in real life those are my actual maternal instincts.
I took a dusky walk alone.
I might have seen a biggish animal with tan fur in the hollow of a fallen tree. When it’s almost dark and you’re looking into the bottom of a rotten tree stump and see something LIGHT it kind of stands out. So I crept away with needless caution . . . if it were an animal it had already heard me and decided to hide from my noisy human ass.
This is light because I used the flash . . . I think that long gleaming strand is some spiderweb, not my hair:
And then I definitely saw an owl.
I wish @DeliaTS were at home with me right now to see how bright the stars are from our backyard.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 1, 2014