TastyTrixie.com

Archive for August, 2006

LATEST SEX DREAM
Which one of these people from Curb Your Enthusiasm do you think I had a wet sex dream about last night?

I doubt it will come as a shock to those of you who know me, but it was that “fat fuck” Jeff.

While I tend to get hot over chubby guys, I don’t think I’ve ever consciously acknowledged my lust for Jeff. But last night I had a few sex dreams (one of them also involved Nathan Fillion after a very long slide down a spaceship/spacestation slide, red black and metal, miles of sliding on a tube) and the most fulfilling and enchanting had to do with Jeff.

Panties. I had many pairs of my favorite panties in hand, ones that I’d already worn a bit so some already had that good pussy smell on them. I also had an assortment of whore friends and I wanted to throw a little panty party with strange middle-aged men I randomly picked up and invited over, knowing they would appreciate the sexual nature of my play without actually pushing for SEX. Jeff was one of the attendees. I kissed him and kissed him and kissed him while he smiled, but alas, we never got to the panty part due to my dream taking an anxiety-riddled turn into car accidents. But I woke up wanting JEFF.

Where does a lust for this guy come from? Is it the way he’s always so clean and tidy and fetchingly-clothed in Curb? Is it his submissive nature in the show? He’s never grotesquely submissive in an attention-whoring squirmy manipulative way, but he’s just so laid back even when Suzy is screaming that he’s a fat fuck. Maybe that’s what makes me so hot for him. Or maybe it’s that someone who’s THAT heavy probably isn’t going to have the energy to fuck YOU, instead he’ll just lay back and let you fuck HIM with a smile on his face. No pain, no ruthless pounding, complete control. At least, maybe that’s the way I envision it in my horny subconscious mind.

Mmmmm . . . perhaps that more youthful pic reveals more of the attraction. Plus there’s something about his voice I like, maybe there are traces of his Chicago history in it, or maybe it’s just the slightly-wheezy squeezed voice of a fat fuck. I don’t know. It makes me hot. I have a couple of other fat fuck crushes I’ve been meaning to blog about, so maybe it will all fall into place when I do that.

Note: if my use of the term “fat fuck” is offensive to you, allow me to point out its part of the show, Curb Your Enthusiasm (and if you haven’t watched it, you damn well should). I was never a big Seinfeld fan, but Larry David of Curb? FAN I AM.

SO WRONG

I know it was so wrong of me to spend my money on THEM, of all of those, but I did.

Can you say, “drunken horny impulse buy”?

Lest you think I was slamming small titties, I *love* small titties. I was just in the mood for pale creamy big ‘uns tonight.

And if you want to know what I *really* like to masturbate to, here’s a tip. There’s a difference between that kind of purposeful masturbation, and the zoned-out relaxation I was after tonight. But Rita Hayworth really lights my fire.

ALONE

Tucker just left with my sister and Bradle and my nephew for a four day hiking trip. While I love alone time, I feel pathetically teary-eyed over his temporary absence. More on those conflicting feelings later . . .

In the meantime I’m going to the store for some luna bars and looking forward to tea and breakfast (bars) in bed alone with my hot water bottle. And two dogs!!

That sounds all wrong.

FAMILY & COMMENTS
Tomorrow . . . errr . . . today my sister, Bradle and my favorite squishy nephew are coming over so some of our cams might go down to accomodate privacy and avoid breaking idiotic laws formulated upon the assumption that pornographers and people who look at porn are all indecent criminal beasts. Ooops . . . how is it that I can’t say something simple (”some of our cams might be down”) without adding something bitchy (”I hate observing fucked up senseless stupid-ass laws”)? Fluck.

Anyhooo . . . it seems people made a bunch of comments over the past week or two without any notification being served to me. I just discovered this oversight today, and remedied it by publishing those comments. Of course, I haven’t actually replied to any of them yet, but in case you took the time to comment and wondered why your words didn’t appear, I want to let you know it was nothing personal, I just didn’t KNOW you commented so didn’t give them that extra push to make it to the page.

ADDICTION TO CONTENT PRODUCTION

Editing Tucker’s pics tonight, and often while editing my own pics, I *yearn* to shoot more content than we do, to make it more of a daily part of life. Not because I love having my picture taken or the “photo shoot” process (though I do love shooting Tucker), but because I love looking at the pictures later. LOVE it. It’s the best part. Seeing the good stuff, the way a curl looks on my boyfriend’s face, or the color of my cunt, or some little detail or tired genuine glance or lazily-held pose . . . I love looking at that. I haven’t gotten tired of it.

I feel like I’m making something and I want to make more. and more andmoreandMORE. Not in a “I’m on the verge of changing the world!” way . . . but in the manner of someone hoarding goodies, quietly filling out a collection of days and aging and intimacy. Like stockpiling canned food in your bunker. You can never have too much stored up, even if you know you’ll never USE it or NEED it, and even if you fill up all the shelves, you won’t be done because then you have to go replace the old stuff with fresher duplicates.

It surprises me that I haven’t gotten bored with this, that I still want MORE, particularly when so much of what we do is so very repetitive — same people, same bodies, same poses . . . it doesn’t vary all that much. You try to spice it up with different places and clothes, but it’s really the same us, over and over. And maybe that’s what compels me, the repressed hope that if we keep doing it — taking these pictures of each other / ourselves — I will finally know who we are. I’ll finally have a handle on it, and know him and myself from the inside out. If I keep looking, closely, at the same us from different angles on different days in different light I will never lose us. I will live forever. I can make every single day of my life live forever, if we just take pictures on those days. I won’t lose anything . . . I won’t be able to forget, or if I do I can find us again.

Maybe I’m always surprised to see who I am, and shocked that I’m someone a teensy bit different depending on the camera angle and my position on that day. It fascinates me how much the camera lies, or reveals in graphic detail things I never knew about myself. I might be more complex than I thought. I might be off the hook as far as authenticity and consistency goes because there are clearly so many variations on truth and reality – I don’t have to be reliable; it’s impossible.

Okay, and it’s even cooler editing our photos when I’m listening to my radio station. Maybe tunes like Neil Young’s “Down by the River” are making me a little maudlin . . . you’ll forgive me, I hope, for starting to make a page to go with the station since the goal is to get more exposure for my site through it. Needs more work, though.

AUDIO
Voyeurs: our audio is going to be off in our bedroom tonight. If it’s still off in the morning, could you be a dear and email me to remind me to turn it back on?

I CAN’T STOP FARTING

Seriously. It’s reaching a boiling point. I am *fuming*.

I shouldn’t be awake yet, but one of my farts woke me up. It was so round and palpable I thought . . . you know, it might not just be gas. BUT IT WAS. Unless you count the “fecal dust” some people refer to.

Please God, help me stop farting so much. If not for my sake, then for Tucker’s. Consider the lilies.

SECRETS OF WEBWHORE SUCCESS: ENTRY 77

I wrote this entry MONTHS ago, but didn’t want to post it because I really don’t think I have great skin. But then Margarita the makeup-artist had to flatter me on the porn set with a compliment on my skin so I thought I’d almost yank this old entry out of draft mode in case it can help someone.

The Palatial Bint recently asked,

How on earth do you get your skin looking that good?!

I’m quite pale and often think I look a bit pasty but am doubtful of fake tan’s ability to make me look anything less than freakish and mottled.

Moi? Good skin? Hmmm . . . I wonder if she means my face or body or both?

I don’t actually have good skin. I have lavendar chicken-skin, dry skin, prominent pores, and all kinds of unpleasant skin characteristics. If my skin looks good here in my blog, it’s probably because the photos are small enough to be very forgiving. In the members-only area, where the pics are much bigger, my skin shows more of its true colors. But I’m happy to pass along more information about my skin and what I do with it to give it that webwhore glow. Just bear in mind that my skin is not that great so whatever I’m doing can’t really be taken as expert advice.

First of all, there are things we do with our pictures to try to make our skin look better. We set the white balance on our camera, we sometimes adjust the color balance in Photoshop if skin looks too yellow or green or blue, and I often use the bandaid tool in PS to fix some temporary blemishes (ingrown hairs, big zits, etc.). In ten years I’ll probably be adding a blur layer to my photos to soften my wrinkles. Whatever you see of me on the internet is generally improved through the filter of a camera, software, and the viewing size of our photos. Also, when we do live shows, the quality of the video feed is not good enough to really show big imperfections; that’s why camming can be so flattering to one’s ego — anyone can look terrific at 320×240 pixels with a lot of light blanching out bumps, lines, and dimples.

Second, I go tanning. Yes, I do. I don’t do it to excess so most people wouldn’t guess that I fake ‘n bake; I usually only do 10-15 minutes a week, if that, and no more than thirty a week. It brings out my freckles which distract from a lot of other flaws, it makes my skin warmer-looking and less bumpy, and the expensive tanning lotion I slather on is really really moisturizing. I disagree with extreme anti-tanners; a little sun is important for the vitamin d (especially for women to help us absorb calcium) and because, you know, it feels good. I do use sunblock if I’m going to be outside in the sun for any period of time.

Third, I use a lot of lotion every day. I usually moisturize my face twice a day, and I apply gallons of lotion on my body after each shower or bath. I don’t drink a ton of water, but I rarely have soda pop or caffeine so I think it balances out. During a typical day I have a small cup of decaf tea, a few glasses of sparkling water, and a couple giant glasses of soy milk.

Aside from ample moisturizing, the most important thing I ever did for my skin was to stop washing my face. In my twenties I started getting painful acne; it wasn’t all over my face, but a few really swollen cystlike zits plagued me. When I was about to get married I knew I needed to do something or my wedding day would be a nightmare!! I’m so embarrassed to admit that this was so important to me, not having zits on my wedding day. I went to a short-lived store selling essential oils called Amphora (anyone remember them?) and asked a girl there for advice. SHE TOLD ME TO STOP WASHING MY FACE AND START RUBBING OIL INTO IT.

The rationale actually makes sense; due to overzealous scrubbing and washing your skin gets dried out so it fights back by trying to restore moisture, producing MORE oil. By lavishing your face with oil, it stops manufacturing it. I took her advice, I bought some cold-compressed almond oil from a health food store and massaged it into my face. PROBLEM SOLVED.

I’m sure people who’ve seen my face close up are thinking that I’m hardly proof that this method works, but seriously — my skin has been far better and felt far better since I stopped washing. I don’t do the oil thing very often, only when I get a sore zit, but it never fails to restore balance. I’m not saying the zits magically disappear, but close to it. The ones that don’t magically disappear with the oil treatment are brought to a head quickly, and the sore underground volcano is quickly relieved. I told a woman with major skin problems (who had tried EVERY kind of product) about this; she went and bought olive oil from Safeway and practically gave me a rim job she was so thankful. It wasn’t even extra virgin!

So. For my face: lots of lotion, oil sometimes (I also like any oil with vitamin e in it since the good almond oil has to be refrigerated and goes bad fast), and if it needs exfoliating I use a natural sponge (a small piece, only used once then thrown away) with some lavendar and chamomile oil or something like that.

I have to admit, I think my face is aging faster than my mom or dad’s did — I’m *sure* they looked younger at my age (33) than I look now, but maybe it’s just my personality. I’d say it might be the tanning, but my dad spent his life burnt to an Irish crisp and still looked youthful until he got sick. I’ve spent my life being fairly sedentary compared to them so I’m sure my lack of exercise is making me age faster than they did.

Another thing that might help: I don’t use anti-perspirant. I’m a firm believer in sweating and I think your skin looks better and your body feels better the more toxins you release via whatever methods. Also, I don’t eat super healthy, but I don’t eat as much crap as most people do in this country. We try to buy organic, eat less processed food, more vegetables, etc. We’re not as good as some people at this, but better than most.

One thing I don’t do enough that I think genuinely makes a difference in my appearance is to really LOOK at myself and take time pampering my body, being very mindful of what I’m doing. The less attention I pay to my physical body, the shittier I seem to look. I don’t know what that’s all about, but it’s the truth. It sounds totally vain and narcissistic, but I need to spend more time looking in mirrors and experiencing pleasure when I do so, not just to get ready for a shoot but for sheer fun.

VISITATION
We just got back from spending a couple of days and a night at my sister’s visiting her, Bradle and the baby, the perfect wittle squishy love bucket that he is.

I intended to make a phone post alerting people to our absence so no one would worry when we didn’t appear on our bedroom cam last night, but I was far too absorbed cuddling my nephew, singing to him, and delighting in his every little smile, coo and whimper. He brings out the peace and joy in me — I love being an aunt!