TastyTrixie.com

Archive for December, 2006

DONE IN 2006
Today I at least finished one thing I reallyreallyreally wanted to get done (get started, actually) before the new year hits; a couple of months ago I emailed a handful of people (women, to be exact . . . women who make porn, to be exacter, I’m getting so very sleepy) about a tiny project that I think will make 2007 a little more fun and motivated on a daily basis.

Anyway, I’m tired — just happy to have accomplished something today besides “performing” my show and whatever else I did (ate nasty vegetarian taquitos).

Tomorrow we need to go buy a firewire card for Tucker’s computer; ever since the software changed for our spycams he hasn’t often been able to simulcast his shows which means our voyeurs have been missing out. I hope adding the firewire will remedy this problem because it’s a crying shame that people can’t spy on Delia more often.

HAND JIVE

Tucker came down with a pukey-feeling flu bug while we were visiting his family; that evening while he slept soundly trying to recuperate, I lied next to him in the dark feeling agitated and horny unable to stop my mind from concocting sexually provocative visions.

I imagined hiring a cartoonist to animate a hot up-and-over video featuring a limber young man straining to suck his own swollen red-headed uncut cock. I couldn’t just fall asleep with that image in my head so I started to give myself a hand job. When I manually masturbate I often like to accompany it with the visual of a cock with foreskin because it matches the feeling of the hood over my clit.

Wearing my earplugs made it difficult for me to tell whether or not I was being noisy and would wake Tucker. Was the back of my hand making scraping sounds against the sheets? Was I gasping noisily? Pretty soon I was too far gone to worry about whether or not I was making the bed quiver or the blankets twitch. Enjoying the feeling of manipulating the skin over my clit and using a variety of strokes, I had a rocking pointy orgasm.

It’s pathetic, but the last time I remember getting myself off with my hands/fingers was two years ago, also while we were at Tucker’s parents’ house, also while Tucker was sick. God, has it really been that long??

I can’t believe how much I rely on my vibrators now and how I’ve neglected the old-fashioned handjob since I love the feeling SO MUCH. It’s not just the way my fingers make my pussy feel, it’s the way my pussy makes my FINGERS feel. The way touching my clit and lips and thighs and tummy and butt-cheeks and hair makes my BRAIN feel. Using toys can really break that mind-body connection (though I think using toys while watching myself in a mirror or on cam helps link it back up).

*****

I’ve got my shows back on the schedule for Friday and Saturday and will no doubt be using my toys (I’m pretty sure I couldn’t climax using my hands during a group show — there are just too many distractions for me to concentrate or maybe it’s just too private for me to do in front of so many people . . . or both).

I spent today doing mundane things: balancing my checkbook, paying bills, going to the bank, unpacking a little bit, and starting to catch up on email. After the unexpected anxiety attack I had on the airplane (have I written about that yet?) I’m making a calmly concerted effort to happily spend ample time on my physical, emotional, and spiritual health without acting so resentful and fearful of how I should be spending that time “working” or worrying about the vast amounts of things still left to do. I reminded myself that those are all things I *enjoy* doing, and they don’t need to be done fast or NOW or yesterday to be done well. I read cheesy things this morning to inspire me to feel cheesy loving ways, I took a long walk feeling cheesy and calm and loving and present; I saw the moon, I stroked the dog, I heard the birds, I looked at the mountains, I felt connected to and part of the people and the puppies I passed. I slowly went through the email notifications of new (and returning) members we got while we were away and read each person’s name in my head, silently thanking them. Tucker and I made up a meal plan for the week and did our grocery shopping and I loved every minute of it.

It all sounds so pukey, and I hope no one reads any of this if it makes them want to barf, but seriously . . . it takes more than a good hand job to be truly happy and deeply content. Especially when you’re on an airplane and can’t give yourself a good one to calm down; a girl needs a few more tricks in her bag to maintain her sanity.

MOST UNLIKELY GIFT TO PLEASE ME

The Staples Easy Button.

I had no idea what it was, I didn’t “get it” or how it fit into their marketing ploy since I’ve never seen a Staples commercial having not had television for years and years, and we don’t really have a lot of Staples stores out here.

But someone in Tucker’s family gave us one; I was perfectly happy to “forget” to pack it, but when we were in the airport my backpack started telling me, “that was easy!” whenever I picked it up or put it down so it seems Tucker packed it *for* me at the last minute.

The crazy thing is that I kind of like it. I’m pretty vulnerable to primitive means of behavior shaping so I actually benefit from pressing that silly red button after I finish a task just to hear that little affirmation of “that wasy easy!” in its speak ‘n spell texas instruments style voice.

FYI: if you want your easy button to say something else, here are simple instructions for modifying it.

WE’RE HOME!
After waking up at 3:30 pacific time (I never adjusted myself to eastern while we were in MI) we soon got on the road and only actually got home about an hour ago. We’re both pretty tired and looking forward to diving under the Christmas present we got ourselves: a new comforter! Clean flannel sheets, a hot water bottle, and fiddling through the shows backed up on our DVR should keep us occupied for about ten minutes before we fall fast asleep, then tomorrow I’ll start to try to get back to normal. No, BETTER than normal!

LEAVING EARLY
We’re leaving Michigan early tomorrow and will probably spend Wednesday night in Seattle with my sister, brother-in-law, and my six-month-old nephew, Mr. Squishypants.

This was the first Christmas morning I’ve spent with children since I myself was a child — kind of stunning considering most people my age have kids of their own or at least an extended family with children in it. I was deeply impressed with the Tucker’s nieces and nephews before and during the present-opening; everything was far more organized than I thought possible with four small kids. They showed unbelievable restraint waiting for all of the adults to wake up and get their coffee before they even started peeking in their stockings and everyone tried to take turns and acknowledge the gift-opener and gift-givers once the unwrapping began. LOVELY! Three cheers for Tucker’s family!!! Every child capable of speaking coherently expressed genuine gratitude towards the people who gave them presents and appreciation for the gifts themselves, whether they were toys, books or sweaters.

Beyond the whole rule-following and politeness thing, though, there were many moments of total joy observing the kids over the past couple of weeks. For one thing, THEY ALL STILL BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS. I totally thought the two oldest at nine would be beyond that, or at least a bit suspicious, but NO. Santa is still magically reliably REAL to them. The best present I got was to respond to the note they wrote to him; as Santa I thanked them, among other things, for the nutritious carrots they set out for me and my team and told them of the role they played in reinvigorating Rudolph’s nosepower. I wasn’t actually awake when they read it in the morning, but it was so fun for me just to get to play Santa a little bit. Of course, I was too selfish to sign any of our gifts as “from Santa” since I wanted us to get complete credit for all of the nerdy books we gave them, so the note was as far as my roleplaying went this year, but I can look forward to that in the years to come with the squish.

AWKWARD
We were discomfited when Tucker and I discovered that his brother has access to a porn site which has access to our live shows. During a private moment at his house, he asked us for our insider perspective on how this particular site made money, and we looked at each other and realized that he’s about one and a half steps away from seeing our shows, which includes the ones Tucker does as Delia (his family, as you might expect, is completely unaware of her existence).

Even the vast world of internet porn is a small one. We knew we weren’t “safe”, hidden, or anonymous before, but we *really* know it now.

SPAM PROVIDES INSIGHT
I should keep a list of the spam email subject headings that actually motivate me enough to click on them. Latest: “I will pay your way”. Yes, I *am* what I am.

Normally I don’t find myself reading *any* spam because at home my filter protects me, but *away* from home it’s more difficult for me to discern spam from real messages.

Dammit — I have to poop. This will effectively end my seven minute stint on the internet today.

Yes, I am REALLY READY to go home. Only tonight, Sunday, Christmas, and Tuesday left to endure and then departure on Wednesday. I am raring to get back to work and am chock full of ridiculous pornographic ideas. Tucker’s family is great and all but two weeks is too long (he tried to warn me . . . ).

TROOP SUPPORT
My site was just reviewed over at The Best Porn and Tucker and I were brainstorming ways to boost my score. He suggested that I fuck “more” black guys (a funny suggestion since a) the whole interracial porn niche kind of makes me cringe, and b) I’ve never actually fucked a black guy for my site before; in fact, I barely have any content of me with any guys besides Tucker).

But if I *am* going to target a specific “type” of guy to fuck for content on my site, here is what it will be: seriously injured veterans. Guys who’ve come back from Iraq missing limbs, paralyzed, etc. Those are the guys I want to fuck.

Don’t think I’m being a saint for wanting to bang (oooh, wrong word — could cause flashbacks) gimped up vets, as part of my interest is extremely fetishistic and totally selfish.

I guess if I really wanted to aim high I would put BLACK injured vets at the top of my to-do list.

But seriously — if anyone knows any soldier who’s come back from the Middle East with a major visible physical challenge who might be “up” for some safer action in some amateur porn, EMAIL ME!!

FUDGE
There’s nothing like waking up to the smell of something baking, wandering into the kitchen and finding your boyfriend making fudge in his mommy’s spotless kitchen. Tucker made three kinds: regular/smooth, a variety with walnuts and dried cherries, and a pan with coffee chips.

He even let me lick the spoon!