TastyTrixie.com

Archive for April, 2006

I WANNA GET PHYSICAL . . . PHYSICAL . . .

Full Gallery appearing in my Members-Only area with Tuesday 5/2 update.
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A few weeks ago my body felt fantastic, we were having a lot of sex and eating decently, and I mournfully wished that we could devote a month to doing nothing but fucking, watching tv, and exercising. No long hours at the computer, no spendy off-site shoots, no worrying about advertising and marketing. Just a lot of laying around naked, sweating, rolling around and fucking, backrubs, stretching, listening to music, dancing naked in the living room, etc.

And then I realized we actually could/can do that. With a modicum of preparation we could do a month of that, or we could immediately commence to do a one week on, one week off type of schedule (or two and two) alternating geek-work with body-work. Our members would like it, we would like it, and we’re actually primed for it.

I have a couple of fun things to nail down in the upcoming week before we officially commit to a fuck-it-all schedule, but when I make sure of them I’ll post a follow-up entry to this one elaborating a bit on a few cool site enhancements along with a more hedonistic schedule for May.

DEAD CARS
Both of our vehicles are dead in the driveway at a rather inopportune time; my sister’s baby is due in June so we need to have transportation in order to lavish them with attention and cuddle the little snookums doodlebuggy baby boy sweetiekins (and annoy everyone with my enthusiasm for speaking nonsense).

If it weren’t for needing (nay, WANTING) to visit my family, I would get a bicycle and we’d just say “fuck that” to having a car until the weather turns in October. We’re not too interested in fixing the cars we do have because really, they are due to be retired and we are due for something more practical (in a size between my tiny sports car and Tucker’s huge pickup). I don’t want to sink money into fixing either of our autos, but it looks like we’ll have to do some kind of bandaid action just to get us through for awhile. Say a prayer for us that at least one of them won’t require too much money to fix . . .

I tried to take a laptop outside today to do some blogging, but it wound up being a nightmare in between the glare being too bright to see the screen, the dog following my around “talking” to me, and trying to stay tethered to a webcam the whole time. I finally gave up and went back inside to watch Cops. I’m considering starting a Cops blog, that’s how much I love/hate Cops. And starting up blogs I don’t have time to maintain. If I set up a Cops blog I’ll probably stop watching Cops because I’ll start associating the show with guilty feelings of neglecting my Cops blog. Ohhhh . . . I can’t watch Cops unless I feel like blogging about it too . . .

Now that we’ve entered the world of multi-channeled television, I’ve begun to figure out which of the OTHER forensics, law enforcement, and violent crime shows I like best. Scratch Dog the Bounty Hunter off the list along with Real Stories of the Highway Patrol (those re-enactments suck ass). I love the wailing sirens and crashes on Hot Pursuit and The First 48 is filled with a diversity of gore and police narcissism — splendid. I can’t remember the names of the other ones, but my dvr is filled with them. Nothing calms me down and soothes me like these shows, sick as that sounds. I like watching them more than I like eating Ding Dongs.

I better go put the laptop back and log in the backyard cam since Delia is having tech problems tonight and hasn’t been able to keep her cam up while she’s webwhoring. I get very uptight when we don’t have our full arsenal of cams logged in for our members to spy on us. Speaking of our cams, we should have more of them soon (provided our internet connection can support that many streams without us upgrading all the way to a T1 line which I’m not sure we could afford). More on that later, though.

Anyway, I actually did accomplish a lot of work today (in addition to watching Cops). I edited a gallery of photos, optimized a few web pages for search engines, did some writing, researched some technical enhancements for our affiliate program, and did some detail-work on my site by fixing some outdated links, polishing some pages with newer images, and revising, updating, and adding-to text. I tell you these things not because I think they sound interesting, but to remind people how incredibly un-sexy my job can be. I also need to spell it out for myself sometimes, to remind myself what I’ve accomplished in a day even if it’s not something big, shiny with sex-lube, or exciting that I can show off.

Tomorrow things will be shinier with sex lube since we have a couple of shows scheduled in the afternoon and then a session of massage and hanky panky at night.

TWO THINGS YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT TRIXIE

A couple of things you might not know about me:

1. I don’t like those blue m&m’s. I liked the old seventies colors. Red looked so pretty with the two colors of brown. Blue is ALL WRONG.

2. I believe that space colonization will save humankind — that ONLY space colonization CAN save us. It’s not something I think about often so it’s not like I’m revealing some bizarre secret of mine. Or wait, maybe I am. This is something I’ve believed for a long time, maybe because the space station was such a big deal when I was a kid. Still, it wasn’t something I had any detailed exposure to — it just slid into my belief system.

Why does this nugget of belief appeal to me? I don’t know — probably because science barely-fiction captured my imagination somehow from an early age. I’m not very literate in the sci-fi genre in general, but my dad bought enough graphic sci-fi stuff (a huge Buck Rogers collection in giant-book form which I never read, but leafed through every so often, a couple of captivating books with spaceship blueprints, and a subscription to Omni) that it wiggled into my consciousness as something real. Star Wars was the first movie I remember seeing, and that in a drive-in theater with my dad after a fight with my mom so it made a big impression on me. I didn’t study or immerse myself in science, science fiction, or technology but I saw and read enough that was so beautiful, believable, provocative and richly detailed that it planted seeds in my brain.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t like Star Trek: not very beautiful, believable, or richly detailed. My first exposure to Star Trek was the original series during reruns and I was too little to understand its provocative content, only to recognize its visual inferiority to Star Wars and the other pictures I saw. The only thing I liked about the original series were the short dresses on the hot chicks. Of course, in the past couple of years I’ve become a Next Gen fan but it didn’t contribute to the formation of my belief system, only reinforced it.

I think space colonization is part of my faith; I have faith that a few smart, persistent, creative people will save us and we will endure thanks to scientists and technology. When I say “we” I don’t mean “I” since I believe this will happen after I’m dead and gone, but not by much. The idea of space colonization comforts me even though it’s completely irrelevant to my life and even though it will be fraught with tragedies and scary things.

I suppose I like knowing that the struggle will go on and that there are new frontiers to explore. Or maybe it comforts me to imagine that people in general won’t become too much more advanced than I had a chance to be any time soon. I can’t believe Firefly only lasted one motherfucking season because that show perfectly captured what I think a lot of us imagine as the not-so-distant future of humankind.

Honestly, I don’t spend a lot of time specifically thinking about space colonization as a cornerstone of my belief system. I have, however, spent quite a bit of time over the past few years reflecting on science fiction in general as the best contemporary vehicle for exploring spiritual, moral, and ethical issues. Science fiction is one of the most authentic ways I feel like I can “get religion”. It’s not fixed or as dogmatic as science itself so there is still room for faith (and when I say “faith” I mean faith in something — ANYTHING — wiggly and uncertain, not faith in any of the gods of religions we’re so familiar with today), and it’s not completely insane or irrational (again, like so many of the religions we’re familiar with today). There’s room for soaring idealism in science fiction, and for bitter cynical social commentary. I love it.

Anyway, even though I don’t give daily deep thought to space colonization, I guess I do feel pretty anxious about this planet and sad about what we’re doing to it. The amount of destruction I’ve seen in my short life, and the carelessness people have towards the “environment” leads me to believe (another part of my faith) that we aren’t going to be able to live here naturally much longer without lots of artificial intervention. Much of what is most beautiful will be utterly fucking destroyed — any of it that’s saved will be via small-scale Jurassic Park type measures.

I didn’t grow up in a city. Many days I actually got to wade in creeks, see big trees, smell clean air, enjoy darkness at night, have complete privacy/solitude . . . things like that. I’ve spent all of my thirty three years loving ferns and moss and the smell of rotting wood.

I didn’t grow up in a city, but I grew up close enough to the city of Seattle to see major MAJOR changes in western Washington every single year for the past thirty-three. It’s nothing against cities, because I love those too, but we are mowing good things down and paving over it so fast and furiously and on such grand scale that you have to have your head stuffed straight up your cornucopian ass to not recognize that we’re shitting all over the planet; it cannot sustain these levels of “growth” and resource-rape. I wasn’t raised to be an “environmentalist”; my grandpa was a logger and most people I knew were pretty conservative and hostile towards “tree-huggers”. Really, my sentiments are fueled only by the gift of sight — you have to be fucking blind to not see the destruction and life out of balance.

So. I guess I comfort myself with the fact that science will create new wonders, preserve and transplant some old ones, and life will go on. It really breaks my heart, though, imagining the world introduced to my nephew (or my own children if I ever have any) and trying to show them as many things as possible before they’re bulldozed down. If my own lifetime has been marred by observable decimation of natural resources and beauty I can only imagine how depressingly ugly and destructive the world will become over the next three generations. And hey, it’s not all about “nature” — privacy and solitude are becoming relics of the past (or at least luxuries only the very richest of the rich can afford). If I ever have grandchildren I’m pretty certain their notion of these concepts (privacy and solitude) will be reduced to tiny fragments of what they should be.

It makes me fucking shudder, but I thank my lucky fucking stars to be alive in this time and place rather than somewhere else, or sometime long ago, or sometime in the near future. That brings me back to faith; who or what should I “thank”? Science fiction hasn’t answered that question for me yet so sometimes I fall back on the old-fashioned stuff because really, I do need to give thanks even if it’s primitive, superstitious and nonsensical.

TSK
I want to blog about so many things, I’m afraid to begin posts about any of them since I lack the hours and brainpower to do them justice, so here are some tiny tidbits instead:

We went out on Saturday night. OUT out — to a bar! I was going to blog about that . . .

I made some big exciting webwhore purchases today — I have two entries about that (before and after) . . .

I finished some books — some of you might read an entry about those.

Tons of anti-free speech stuff in the news — I feel like I should podcast about a few of those buried stories.

Kellie Pickler is the worst kind of whore. I probably shouldn’t blog about that.

Speaking of whores, I’m feeling a little conflicted about the evolution of my attitudes towards certain kinds of women in the internet porn industry. Introspective podcast called for.

I’ve got a lot of webwhore “advice” requests I could respond to here. Do I have a lot of “sugar daddies”? What are the secrets of my “success”? And how can I help you, a total stranger, create a web presence like mine?

The Duke rape case. A “fun” blog entry could come from that mostly because I don’t actually have a strong belief or opinion about the whole matter, only on the exposure it’s getting.

Oh yes, and I very much want to blog more about the complexities of whether or not I meet people or would consider meeting people in “real life” who’ve introduced themselves through one of our websites. I’ve blogged about that a little before, but it really is more complicated than that entry (which only focuses on the fucking aspect) makes it sound. Anyway, someone made a perfect proposal during a camshow a few weeks ago so I wanted to share it and re-open that can of worms. Not because I want to invite more proposals exactly, but because I like thinking about boundaries, money, whoredom, fandom, etc.

But now it’s time to find out who got kicked off of Idol. Tucker thinks Pickler, I think Hicks.

VOTE FOR BLOGGER CATEGORIES
I am *dying* for the day Blogger makes it easy to add and use categories on our blogs. Fellow bloggers? VOTE HERE to help send Blogger the message that we want this option.

When I’m able to add categories to this blog they might include:

Photos
Videos
Surf Log & Links
Mundane
Sex
Porn
Things that are Worse than Porn
Webwhoring
Phone Sex
Q ‘n A
Food
Politics
Books
Movies
TV
Music

Members: I’ve got a couple episodes of news flash scheduled for today. See you then?

THE GOOD LIFE
Springtime was good to us today; Tucker rolled the grill out into the yard to cook salmon, we drug lawnchairs onto the same patch of grass with a view, and we soaked in bliss. A *view*. Snowy mountains, saltwater, and wheeling birds. Peace and near-quiet. The scent of hot charcoal briquettes.

We both felt like we were living the good life. It’s hard to strive for “more” when you have so much already, so much pleasure and contentedness. You might have seen us on our backyard spycam, or at least the backs of our chairs and our sweet dog milling around us, enjoying our undistracted company on her turf. You might wonder how we could think we’re living “the good life” when we were using an overturned cardboard box as an endtable for our drinks, but it’s impossible for me to delude myself into thinking I don’t have it very, very good — cardboard box tables and all.

MY FAVORITE SEX TOY
After telling you whether or not I name my sex toys I thought I’d answer another frequent toy-related question asked by viewers of my camshows; “what’s your favorite toy”?

I have a handful (ahem – more than a handful, actually) of favorite toys that I rely upon to get me off during my shows, but there isn’t really one that beats all as my “favorite”. Better to ask me which toy I would want if stranded on a desert island.

The answer? My Hitachi Magic Wand. I use it in nearly all of my shows that involve orgasm, usually in tandem with a toy in my pussy or ass. As most of you already know, the magic wand is a high-powered plug-in “massager” that vibrates the fuck out women’s clits. Since purchasing mine six or seven years ago I’ve pretty much abandoned using my fingers to strum my clitoris to orgasm.

So why am I reluctant to give it the honor of most favored sex toy status? Because the thing is TOO powerful. Too addictive, too reliable . . . it makes me a little sad that my own hand plays second fiddle to this machine. Most importantly, it really can desensitize you, having those intense vibrations mashing your sensitive organ into oblivion; I even bought a special domain to talk about this problem: JackhammerClit.com (nothing there yet, but it’s to showcase stories, photos & videos about the wand along with warnings about its negative consequences). A fellow webwhore addicted to the HMW described cunnilingus after wand usage as being as stimulating as “a warm bowl of jello”.

Honestly I can’t even use the wand directly on the head of my clit; that is painful. I keep it up above on the hood and let the vibrations trickle down. While I use my right hand to press the wand against my mons, I sometimes use my left index finger to VERY GENTLY and subtly stroke the head of my clit. Actually, “tap” is more apt than “stroke”; I use the pad of my finger to give soft, sticky pats and nudges to my clit.

Fact: the only times I’ve orgasmed during anal sex (or doggy-style vaginal) were with the aid of the wand stimulating my clitoris.

I would love to replace my wand with a vibrator that does less nerve damage, say the eroscillator. FuzzyBunny introduced it (and the jackhammer jesus) to me and I’ve coveted one ever since, but with its high price tag I’ve never made buying one a priority since the magic wand definitely works, so it’s not a necessity.

I must move the eroscillator higher on my list of toy-buying priorities for a number of reasons: to preserve sensation, for novelty appeal (I’ve never seen anyone except Fuzzy use it on cam while many camgirls are catching onto the wand), and to avoid covering up so much of my pink parts when I’m doing camshows: the wand makes it kind of hard to see anything except the wand, while the eroscillator’s head is unimposing.

It’s impossible for me to pick a real “favorite”, but I do *love* my kegelcisor. It’s beautiful, substantially heavy, and so smooth and shiny. I love the stainless steel, and I love that it’s a small toy I can insert quickly that feels super safe pressing and rubbing hard against my g-spot (though I do wish I had a bigger version, too; once I’ve gotten worked up it’s actually really small piece of equipment). I love that it’s also a perfect ass toy and it’s easy to clean and totally sterilize. I love that it requires no special care for it to stay beautiful. I mentioned it already, but I really enjoy the WEIGHT of it; it makes me feel like I’m holding something precious, like a gold brick. I also like how it reminds me of medical equipment and even tools and machinery. It appeals to me on many levels, so I think it might be my favorite. I would love to have more heavy steel sex toys.

NAMES
During my camshows people often ask what I’ve named my body parts, my toys, my boyfriend’s body parts, etc.

My name for my breasts:
Many viewers like to call them “the twins” or “puppies”, but I usually refer to them as my boobs. They do not have names, but the left one does have more personality to make up for its smaller size relative to my bigger, lazier right boob. I’m okay with pretty much any word(s) used to describe them (except for “puppies”). I like it when people talk about my rack, my cans, my knockers, my jugs tits hooters . . . whatever.

My name for my vulva:
Again, I don’t have a cute name for it. I do remember a girl with whom I went to high school referred to hers as “Mr. Hooper”. She was an attention whore with a squeaky stupid voice, and it was my first experience hearing a female getting cutesy by naming part of her body in ridiculous way to attract attention while pretending to be “modest”. This grotesquely coy technique raised my hackles then and it raises my hackles now. I have no desire to refer to my cunt/pussy/snatch with a proper noun. It’s fucking ridiculous. You can call it whatever you want (hairpie, whisker biscuit, beaver, etc.), but don’t call it Mr. or Mrs. anything.

I do not think of my body or its parts as separate entities, they are parts of MY body. Trixie’s cunt. Trixie’s boobs. Hailing them by name seems like a nasty way of distancing me from my genitals, as though they operate separately or I don’t truly possess them. I don’t like that. I also don’t like it when people call it my “cookie”. Most other words are fine by me, though. I generally refer to it as my pussy. I like the word a lot (though I hate hearing people refer to it as “kitty”, especially women; kitty sounds so dry and cutesy instead of wet and sexual).

My name for my boyfriend’s pecker:
Surprise!! I don’t have a name for it! Cock, dick, prick — these all work nicely. The only time I would find a proper name for a penis erotic is during a taboo role play involving a dirty old man “introducing” his vulgar member to an innocent via a user-friendly sounding name. Again, cute little names only seem designed to soften the sexuality of the organ and anyone motivated to do that probably has serious issues. I’ve never felt compelled to name anybody’s body parts. You don’t get to pawn off responsibility for your sexuality onto an imaginary body-part-friend.

My name for my sex toys:
I use descriptors or the names provided by the manufacturers: Hitachi Magic Wand (or “magic wand” or “my wand” for short), my purple ass toy, my kegelcisor, the one FurryGirl gave me, my banana, jackhammer jesus (or “my jackhammer” or “my jesus”), the red one, etc. When descriptors overlap, qualify them: my NEW purple ass toy, etc.

It’s not that I don’t love inanimate objects, I just don’t feel inspired to name them. My car does have a name (and I think it’s cool to name cars and boats and houses), but that’s about it. I never really named any of my toys or dolls as a child either, and I’ve never been responsible for naming a pet (except for my puppy Buddy who wound up being killed by a pack of dogs when I was three or four). Someday when I have chickens I’ll name them, though. Chickens are cool.

For more and better reading on the subject (body part names, not chickens) check out Olympia’s post: A Glaring Lack of Good Words.

HOME AGAIN
Ordering up Directv seems to be paying off; when we got to our hotel room we didn’t immediately plop into bed and turn on the television. In fact, we ignored it most of the time, our need for the boob tube satisfied at home, rather than when we’ve rented a room specifically for work/shooting.

Other good news: I unpacked everything as soon as we got home yesterday. We’ve become quite efficient at packing and unpacking when we go on these little shooting excursions. This is saying a lot considering the variety of stuff we have to remember, the sheer volume (Delia’s shoes plus my shoes are a large bag unto themselves), and all of the equipment (lights, cables, cords, computer, camera, camcorder, blank tapes, batteries, etc.). We did have a near-miss on our trip to Portland: we totally forgot the suitcase with all of our clothes. My mom was yakking at us as we were trying to get ready and totally distracted us from the process of packing, so we drove off without the most important piece of luggage. Luckily a) my mom noticed the suitcase on the bed filled with all of the cute clothes I’d showed off to her the night before, b) we stopped at the bank on our way out of town, and c) I had my cell phone and actually had it ON (a miracle) when she called to notify us of our oversight. It would have sucked ass to find ourselves 200 miles away without any of our necessary items.

In between shoots I read The Da Vinci Code. I have to laugh at testimonials describing this book as “a work of genius”, but it *was* entertaining and informative. It’s too bad the heroine was so lame; I have a hard time relating to a character who severs ties with her grandfather because, as an adult, she accidentally walked in on him while he was having sex with another adult. Momentarily shocking & uncomfortable? Sure. Mortifying beyond belief to the point where you do not speak to him for ten years? Sorry, but that’s ridiculous. The entire book was filled with prudery and super-predictable elements. The account number? The mirror handwriting? Even I could figure out those ones.

Another pop culture note: I almost cried watching/hearing McPhee singing “Someone to Watch Over Me.” Oh, and we almost died laughing when Pickler said something to Rod Stewart about lifting something off her chest. It rocked watching these things on DVR, condensing two nights of Idol into about 40 minutes. I can’t believe Pickler held on even though the twat was two beats off of the music. Ugh.

On one hand, I feel guilty and silly about our recent immersion in tv land, but on the other I noticed that during shows and chats people are a lot more responsive to conversations about these things (books like DV Code and shows like American Idol) than when I talk about relatively obscure artists I love like Rose Polenzani or books by Annie Proulx. As a webwhore, it never hurts to have MORE to talk about with MORE people.

By the way, if anyone knows where to see video of the Saturday Night Live skit making fun of Taylor Hicks, I would deeply appreciate the link. Any dumbass who can’t sing “Take Me Home, Country Roads” with some emotion is a lamer deserving of ridicule.

Damn, Idol brings out my mean-spirited side.