…and on my wife‘s chest.
Being on hormonal birth control makes it a lot easier to cry. So easy that I can burst into tears, cry hard for thirty seconds or less . . . then just stop and go on almost like it didn’t happen. Almost. Except that lately I’ve been putting a lot of my mid-life crisis together and identifying (and putting words to) really basic fundamental emotional needs and losses and fears and bullshit, so on days like today the extra hormones help highlight where my biggest sadnesses are in a way that 1) I can’t ignore them, and 2) separates them from stuff that might just be noise.
Really glad @DeliaTS accompanied me to that first (& last) appointment with new psychiatrist. So unhappy over exposing myself to them.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) August 26, 2014
The good news is I’M TOTALLY HUMAN!
And I’ve got my wife . . . and her chest to cry on. And she just cut up some peaches for us to eat in bed, so goodnight.
I recognize that I am lucky to have most of the problems I’ve got. Seriously. You’d be blessed to have many of my problems.
Our Puget Sound region had a ridiculously sunshiny summer, but Delia and I really haven’t done anything “summery” all season. I haven’t even spent much time in the backyard naked, so now I’m trying to cram a little of it in as the days get shorter . . . before it’s all gone:
Delia said there were tons of Seahawks fans on the ferry yesterday heading to Seattle . . . I can’t believe football season is upon us so soon.
I was sooooo tired last night that I kept falling asleep on Delia‘s last night with me for a few days. Until she started doing this:
Then I stayed awake! And we fucked, and it was very good. I came three or four times, and one of the times was after she came.
As a member to my and my wife’s sites (you get both of them when you join either one), you could have been watching Delia eating my pussy and us fucking in a variety of positions last night on our live voyeur cams.
Tonight, however, I will probably shun the cams and hide with a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough. If all goes well tomorrow (Saturday), though, I’ll be doing actual live webcam SHOWS on TrixieCams.com! You can call me on the phone, show off for me on your own webcam, and see me do all kinds of things.
He said that he measures his orgasms by his own slow-pumping heartbeats, and this one was abnormally long.
I said I usually don’t find the way guys measure things (their dicks in inches, my boobs in bra sizes, etc.) very interesting or useful. But this heartbeat-measurement is very compelling and romantic. He then found a way to provide the word he must’ve known I was reaching for: “poetic”.
But there actually *are* some other units of measurement I do find very compelling . . . like the big huge oil containers we used as burn barrels when I was growing up — when I couldn’t come up with the name myself, he then supplied “50 gallon drum” in a painful story which let me know he knew what I was trying to talk about — anyway, I like to imagine how many of those have been filled with cum guys have ejaculated thinking about me over the span of my career as a webwhore. I don’t imagine it’s a whole truckload of them, but just imagining one of them being filled up, a cover placed on it, and a new one being added to excites me. I’m intrigued by the idea of comparing my containers to other people’s.
You would not have watched a threesome though because Delia’s back hurt so we just watched Project Runway. You also could not have seen Taurus and I fucking near midnight (this happened after you might have seen him killing moths in the loft: part of why we turned off the light and did it in the dark, which probably helped me “finish”, even though I rarely want it to be all done).
I’ve been trying to force myself to read. For pleasure, just to try to practice having concentration on something . . . ANYTHING. It’s like I’ve totally lost whatever little bit of attention span and ability to hyperfocus I once had. So I forced myself into the backyard with a book . . . and just wound up taking these pictures.
I only read a few pages, and if you’d been watching me, you’d have seen how painful it was for me. Fidgeting, losing focus, looking at the sky . . . fuck. And it’s an easy straightforward entertaining read. WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?!?
I need to redouble my efforts on everything. When I forced myself to start reading for pleasure awhile back, it seemed like my brain started working quite a bit better . . . but then a lot of “entertainment” actually stresses me out and/or depresses me, so I set aside the books because I felt like they were a bad influence on me. I’m not shitting you. BOOKS. Without pictures. BAD INFLUENCE. I should be more productive! Every choice I make is wrong, and I regret and rethink them within a minute of making each one.
Clearly(?) the problem(?) is that EVERYTHING(?) stresses me out. Even good things! In fact, I think I am primarily stressed out by good things rather than bad things these days. THAT IS SOME FUCKED UP SHIT! Fortunately I’m not the first person in the world to be plagued by ridiculous worry thoughts, so I will try to utilize some of the tools that have been devised for reversing such craziness on a more consistent basis.
I don’t know why I’m even typing these words in here. Why can’t I just let you enjoy my boobs?!?
Pretty much the only thing I can concentrate on these days is sex (with myself or with others). And staring at what I love. And sometimes food. Well . . . those aren’t really the ONLY things, but they’re all I can think of at the moment.
Now it’s nighttime and I feel deliciously tired. My efforts applied to exercising and taking care of my body seem to pay off so much more palpably SO much more quickly. When I do it. Which I did today after the whole reading-in-the-backyard exercise failed.
I spent some quality time on this day masturbating to videos of Taurus on my phone.
There’s this one I made when he thought I was just taking pictures so he was moving really slowly and seductively, and I didn’t tell him I was taking video so I felt kind of guilty about it and stopped after only half a minute which left me with this painfully erotic little stroke video with no cumshot or anything. My phone doesn’t loop videos, so I started getting really frustrated wanting to come to it (if it were just 15 or 20 seconds longer gahhh!) and found a “select player” option which then gave me some crap about connecting our wifi network which I didn’t understand because I just want a different PLAYER on my phone that would REPEATEDLY PLAY THE VIDEO WITHOUT STOPPING but I checked the box anyway and then all of a sudden it said TV-numbernumbernumber and ALL OF A SUDDEN (well not quite that suddenly) THE VIDEO WAS ON OUR BIG HUGE TV!!
Just the concept of the video magically appearing on the tv without any wires or setup or anything made the thirteen-year-old inside me just about spontaneously combust.
I love lazy masturbation when I’m having my period. I came three or four times . . . it was lovely.
It’s interesting to me, all the different mediums for porn I’ve gotten to employ and kinds of media I’ve used as masturbation material over my forty years. ON-DEMAND PORTABLE MASTURBATION FODDER and CAMERA are the two greatest things about mobile phones. And that is why *I* will not download the new Facebook messenger app. Simply because I don’t want to use my phone for painful slow swipey communication . . . MY PHONE IS DEDICATED TO EFFICIENT JACK-OFF MATERIAL.
I wish I could get that video to loop. It’s probably as easy as downloading a special player or something, but in the heat of the moment I never want to stop and find something like that.
Pleasure industries: I think about which ones are stigmatized, which ones are “guilty”, which ones are considered patriotic obligations or badges of pride, which ones are considered entertainment vs which ones are considered obscene.
Emotional labor. Physical labor. Where health, well-being, longevity and sex intersect with money and work.
I think about how much time, money and resources people are proud to put into their automobiles, yards, powder rooms, wardrobes, second living rooms and personal “hygiene”. And how little individuality. And what all of that does to the air we all breathe. If we are paying attention to breathing at all. To our skin.
How many people throughout history and RIGHT NOW IN THE WORLD have access to so many resources?
Would it make me a better person to decline out of guilt to experience it these ways?
Would it make me a better person to have a prim yard, shiny new car, cookie-cutter house and anti-bacterial armpits than to spend a fraction of that to pay people to touch me cup me rub me whisper to me bend me flex me stretch me pray over me TEACH me sing to me soothe me GUIDE me through breathing and how to use this one and only machine I need to live?
I got my B-12 and Magnesium shots today after I was barely able to keep my eyes open for yesterday. Sometimes I chastise myself for being so weak that I rely on these things. Someday I might not have access to these special extra vitamins!! Most people in the world can’t afford such luxuries!! Most people live just fine without these things!! Do they? Or are most people’s lives total shit?
Would it make me a better person to not need to have space and hear the small sounds and see the dimples my fingertips make on the surface of water?
What the fuck are we here for, anyway?
I am here to feel GOOD, and to not make other people feel bad.
Without pleasure and reverence for peace and all kinds of beauty, humanity is just a fucking plague.