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Archive for September, 2007

PHOTOS OF DELIA

I’m editing a gallery of Delia’s pictures; usually she picks through and touches up her own photos so this is a rare treat for me. There’s not a lot involved in our editing process (adjusting light levels, contrast, erasing hot pixels and ingrown hairs, etc. all as needed, so on many photos we don’t do anything) but we do go through every single photo individually to make these minor adjustments or to delete super-repetitive or totally worthless shots with no jack-off appeal. For me this is often a time to enjoy our work, especially when they’re photos I shot rather than photos I’m *in*.

The reason I’m editing this gallery? Because Delia didn’t think she wanted it on her site and thought it would be better on the houseboy site. I disagree wholeheartedly, but am glad it means the photos are in my hands now.

I guess she thinks they look too masculine; one problem with black and white photos is that they often dramatize jawbones, wrinkles, veins, hair, and all sorts of things that don’t lend themselves to soft femininity. Also, she’s naked in a most of the pictures and since she’s not on hormones yet, her body is moderately masculine. I say that her members will still adore them. For now, her site is still marketed and named as a crossdressing site (she’ll be developing a DeliaTS.com or DeliaTG.com site eventually which we’ll add to our network) so we know at least some of her members ARE crossdressers who fantasize about being LIKE Delia as much as or more than they do fucking her. I’m just guessing, but I imagine it’s reassuring to see her nude and occupying that grey area of gender, engaging in the familiar ritual of shaving, one of the few things a closeted guy can do regularly with minimal risk of raising suspicions. And all of those mirrors? Come on — so loaded with a billion familiar themes.

It’s amazing how much long hair or a simple bra communicates to us about someone’s gender identity. Actually, it’s more amazing how little is communicated by nudity and how much we “need” clues in the form of clothing to inform us whether we should relate to someone as a woman or a man. We actually don’t have a lot of full nudity on any of our sites except the houseboy site, so that makes this gallery unusual since normally we focus on striptease-style sets with emphasis on familiar fetish attire like panties, tight sweaters, stockings, etc.

I’m fascinated by this transitional period we’re in, Delia changing her name legally and about to go on hormones, us hoping to get pregnant. I love photos like these ones that will be reference points everyone can use to gauge her body’s progress. These are before pictures (though not the beginning by any stretch of the imagination). We’ll be able to look at her muscles, her jawline, her breasts, her balls, her hips, her hands, and her ass in these photos and compare them to a year or two from now when she’ll have more fat.

*****

Today we’re going to try to do an outdoor shoot of Delia, and tomorrow an outdoor shoot of me. FYI: my period started yesterday and I feel GREAT. All is well and lovely. We were actually going to try to take a whole day off today, but that’s not happening (though we *are* going to have a nice lunch out), nor will it happen at all this week. As a result I feel okay about watching pure buttloads of television throughout the week. Last night we developed an outline of some of the things we need to get done for/in October and I’m looking forward to tackling those things.

Anyway, I *think* Delia is coming around and will post the full set represented in these sample pictures soon. They are so not boy pictures.

THE PLUMBING SHOT

There is almost nothing more satisfying than dislodging and extricating a long, tough, thick booger that’s had its heels set in for a week. When you can feel the tug deep inside your nostril, way back in your brain and you hope that it will just keep coming, like a series of magician’s hankies coming out of a hat. That *pulling* sensation that makes you wish you could see what all of this looks like inside. It’s extremely fulfilling on a visceral level and makes you think about all of the magical potential trapped deep inside your tubes and wires. It tickles so good.

Tonight I discovered something almost as fun: dislodging pipe clogs using CLR Power Plumber (the video is SO delightful!). Here’s how it works: “CLR Power Plumber is a compressed gas. When the formula in the can is released and comes in contact with water in your drain, it expands rapidly, creating a standing wave. It uses the water in your pipe as a battering ram pushing the blockage through and cleaning the walls of your pipes.”

Our bathroom sink has been clogged or at least draining slowly for the past whole-entire-time-we’ve-lived-here. After staring at standing water in the sink all day today, Delia decided to give CLR a try and asked for my assistance in covering one of two holes. On the first plunge, I could hear the magic happening and drainage beginning. On the second plunge I got really excited. On the third plunge I was so distracted with anticipation that I didn’t keep the overflow hole firmly covered and dirty, muddy water sprayed all over the bathroom; it was orgasmic!! And the sink began to drain!! It was all over much too quickly. I actually had fun wiping the diarrhea-like spatter from the walls.

I enjoyed it so much I watched the video/advertisement on their site and continued to think about this marvelous experience. I thought about how much I love seeing clogged-pipe graphics and videos in commercials where they have those clear pipes and you can SEE the problem being dislodged and whisked away. I know I sound over-enthused about this, but honestly, doesn’t the sight of see-through pipes with problems being solved appeal to everyone on some strangely primitive level? I don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s hypnotic, reassuring, and bizarrely exciting. I suppose anything that reminds us subliminally of pooping and orgasm are just naturally appealing and gratifying.

I think I know what I’m getting everyone for Christmas . . . .

A DARK BLUE BLUR

Last week we revived our backyard spycam for members. We don’t have it on the highest-quality spycam site so it’s not as pretty as before, but you can still see the time of day and weather we’re experiencing in our world and even the moon (a circle of white in a field of darkness accompanied by a reflection of the light from the webcam in the window; note: photo above is NOT from our spycam).

Last night we spent some time in bed together holding hands with the lights off and the curtains open, just staring up at the clouds and fog passing between us and the moon and listening to a soundtrack of spacey new age music (I’ll give a link to my iMix when I get it), breathing deeply and eventually falling asleep. We have a pretty fucking awesome view from our bed, I must say.

*****

I’ve been off the pill for about four months now; am I imagining that my body hair is thicker and more expansive than before? Seriously, my pits, pubes and facial hair seem a whole lot thicker and spread farther afield than while I was on birth control. Does anybody know if that is a normal thing to have happen when you stop taking the pill?

Hormones and gender are on my mind a lot these days because of Delia being in the process of transition and about to go on female hormones herself. It’s made me think more about my own gender identity and question things I might otherwise take for granted, like the simple process of my own hair growth. I’m not a very hairy person, but I am quite a bit hairier than my mom and sister. My facial hair isn’t dark or noticeable, but I have a lot of blonde fuzz on my face, to the point where it shocks people when the light hits it just right and they see how much of it there is. It makes me wonder how much of my differences from my mom and sister is a different mix of genetic traits and how much of it is a different blend of hormones.

*****

Speaking of hormones, I’m in the midst of my third whirl with PMS since going off the pill (so no, we’re not yet pregnant). I *really* miss my steady diet of hormones and am having a relatively difficult time without them. I don’t just suffer for a week — no, my mood swings, depression, and murderous impulses dog me for (what feels like) weeks in an exhaustingly unpredictable manner. I can reassure you that it’s not every moment of every day (hence the unpredictability) and life is sweet and peachy in so many ways, but overall I’m having a pretty hard time. It could be worse, I know, but I’d like it to be better. An example of my out-of-whack emotions: my eyes filled with tears last night when the clouds thickened enough to completely blot out our view of the moonlight. I would have started sobbing uncontrollably if not for worrying that Delia and our voyeurs would think I was crazy.

*****

Tomorrow (Tuesday) morning I’m going to be in the chatroom if you feel like keeping each other company. Here’s our schedule if you want more details.

THE BOOBS OF SUMMER

The weather is now gloriously cooler and damper than when we shot these pics, which are my last bonafide summer photos for 2007:

So, what have I been up to?

*Tweeting instead of blogging (though I’ve actually been laboring for a week over a blog entry involving scary pussy pics; I’ll post it one of these days, but both the writing and the topic are near-tragic)

*Setting up our cool new schedule for fans of our shows and spycams; it’s a google calendar and a much better way to communicate exactly where and when we’ll be “performing” since we appear on more than ten different sites regularly (three spycam sites, three cam show networks, and an assortment of venues for private shows and phone sex).

*Fucking (we are still trying to get pregnant, and it’s consuming a sort of big area of my attention especially since it’s connected to Delia’s transition; she/we had her last therapy appointment to get the go-ahead for a report to an endocrinologist recommending her for hormones; if we don’t get pregnant now, or even if we do, we also want to have some of her sperm frozen which is a whole project in itself requiring money, research, and determining what her sperm count is in the first place). I’ll write more about that in other blogs and post links when I do.

*Doing fun camshows and chat sessions while also suffering a moderately nasty weekend headache which I’ve decided to blame on Celestial Seasonings Roastaroma tea, which I LOVE but inexplicably (and perhaps only coincidentally) winds up with me having a migraine the day after I drink a cup.

*Housecleaning (a soul-sucking yet mildly gratifying labor after you invest enough hours into it and stay focused on one thing at a time); we have fresh flannels on our bed, a clean mossy-green wet-autumn-colored comforter, and my nightstand crumbs and piles have been dispersed. The television is dusted and windexed, ready to shine the light of fall programming on our stupefied faces; I’ve not been this “into” television since I was ten years old and plotted my life around the tv guide when I stayed over at my grandparents’ house. I just happened to pick up one of my favorite crap magazines with ads and descriptions of all the new shows popping up on the networks so I decided to try something new (because I seriously have never ever done this in my entire life): I want to watch all of the pilots, even the dumb ones that I really don’t want to see. Okay, I’ve already failed because I’m *not* going to watch that new Frasiery newscaster show, but I am totally looking forward to Kid Nation and Dirty Sexy Money. Does anyone have any guesses as to whether the Geico caveman show is going to suck or be great? I’m one of the apparent millions who loves those commercials and am hoping they aren’t just ruining a good thing making a whole series out of it. I’m very curious about how the copyrights and stuff work for that (but not curious enough to google it and actually find out who paid who what to make it happen).

*Stressing out a little about money since our extension to file our taxes expires next month. On a positive note, I feel myself gearing up for a cycle of productivity and happy hard work. I feel like I’m just coming out of a period of slack time. It’s been great to feel less driven and consumed by work; I needed to slow down a little and have more lazy time. I feel ready to step up and put my nose back down to the grindstone, though. It’s dysfunctional, but I do feel more excited and motivated when I’m on the brink of financial ruin (like maybe not being able to pay our 2006 taxes while I’m still making payments on 2005). I know, I know, some of you nervous nellies are aghast that we’re considering creating our own small human under such dire circumstances, but seriously; the worst case scenarios are really not all that bad. And I’m not genuinely concerned “the worst” or even anything all that bad will happen. Call me crazy, but just do it in your own bubble and not in the comments because I don’t want to hear it. I already know I’m insane. We don’t need to discuss it.

REFLECTIONS ON . . .

Being Average:
My use of the word “average” as a webwhore marketing tool has changed over the past seven years. I used to focus on the ways I was not average to try to distinguish myself from other camgirls and women with paysites. Hairier than average, more honest than average, nerdier than average, etc.

The longer I do this work, the more I value the ways in which I *am* average, partly because average is charming and partly because of the company I keep online. Most of the people I associate with in this industry are women with similar values, similarly structured businesses, and above-average smarts; next to my friends I *am* average. I now prefer to think of us as the rule instead of the exception; it’s less interesting or appealing to me these days to make it sound like I think I’m extraordinary by describing myself as “not your average webwhore”.

As I age and mellow into my work and my body, embracing “average” appeals to me. It looks and sounds intimately awkward and fetchingly familiar. It feels celebratory and empowering. Average exudes confidence. I’m also a fan of contrast and its erotic potential: the contrast between a thick, opaque thigh-high sock, for example, and bare skin above it is SO much sexier than a completely naked leg. The same thing applies to beauty, I think. When you notice a beautiful detail on an average (or even an ugly) woman, it’s very potent and sensual. When you’re average and aging, your beauty and sex appeal become magical: now you see it, now you don’t. You become unreliably hot, which is very seductive because it starts to take you by surprise.

The older I get, the less interested I am in trying to be exceptional. The sound of mediocrity no longer makes me shudder; mediocrity sounds companionable. On a similar note, I no longer hate potluck food: cold noodle salads and deviled eggs are delicious!

SHORT ARMS MAKE FOR GOOD PEDICURES

I got a girly foot job today. Because there was a special half-off deal going on. And because we rented a nice room to shoot in tomorrow and really, what’s the point in blowing money on a fancy room to shoot swank nudey pics if your toes look nasty?

My “nail technician” was a cute heavy-set blonde with her hair done up in Bjorkesque knots. She was not much taller than I am so her arms were pretty short in comparison to her boobs which stuck out a lot. As a result, my toes patted and prodded her fluffy pillows of breastage. During the massage portion, my feet (one at a time) were even engulfed in her cleavage.

I know you all think I’m a total fucking pervert who couldn’t help but get off on this sexually, but honestly I kept my thoughts pure in spite of the pleasant feeling of my feet touching a cute-looking woman’s breasts. I *do* love touching people with my feet on both a sensual and sexual level, but I got the feeling that this girl was fairly new to her craft; she seemed very preoccupied, as though she were trying to follow a script she learned at beauty school or was handed by the salon owner.

I’m guessing it’s probably difficult to have her body invaded like that when she’s trying to work and that she has to do some mental and emotional work-arounds to deal with having strangers’ feet jabbing and patting and smushing against her tits. My feet are really small so I can only imagine that people with normal or large feet REALLY press up against her. Given her inexperience and her personality I just felt sort of awkward on her behalf. Awkward in a way that would be hot if it were fiction, but that any decent woman could resist eroticizing (at the time, anyway). My nail technician seemed to hold her cards close to her chest when I tried to get her to talk trash about our respective towns; she avoided say anything very personal or in a familiar tone.

She was pleasant, but clearly had her guard up. I chalk it up to the boobs and being new to her trade, but it might also have been because her boss could hear us. Regardless, I felt it was NOT the time to be getting all horny over the feet-on-boobs action. Even when I saw my little toeprints-made-of-lotion dotting the front of her black shirt. Even when she said, “you’re still wet so I’m going to keep you here a little longer.” Even then, I did not allow myself to indulge in x-rated fantasies.

“But Trixie, it’s not like she could read your mind! Why censor your thoughts?”

BECAUSE. Sometimes dirty thoughts leak out like bad gas and fill a room with discomfort. I believe they do, anyway. Some people can intuitively pick up on someone else’s hard-on, even if it’s purely mental and poses no physical threat. I have no desire to victimize a professional nail technician even if the victimization is only happening in my head. It’s just disrespectful . . . sometimes you have to rise above your baser instincts. Without acting rigid and readably uncomfortable, you have to detach yourself, particularly when you see that the other person is sending signals that detachment is what she needs.

People who touch other people for a living without actually doing sex work — therapeutic massage, nails, hair, facials (haha), etc. — still provide very intimate services that are supposed to make customers feel good, physically and emotionally. I think they go home feeling similarly emotionally exhausted by the shifty boundaries they’ve dealt with all day, touching people’s sweatiest places, hearing their stories, trying to be receptive to chat while not annoying clients by talking TOO much themselves (or entertaining clients who like that sort of thing). I think they deserve a lot of respect (and good tips) for that and deserve to preserve some boundaries; I would just feel wrong about violating that, even in my head. Especially when my feet are already on her boobs.

LIGHTS, CAMERAS . . . LOOGIES!

If you’ve never been to one of my hour-long camshows with a group audience, here’s the type of chatty performance you are missing:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syDveOyuwA0]

How’d you like that? I have a show scheduled in 2.5 hours so you can get in on the real live action or even ask me pesky questions yourself that will make me groan with impatience and respond with condescension. If you’re patient you might also hear me talk about a variety of bodily functions. If you’re *really* patient you will certainly see my nude boobies and me having an orgasm with my hitachi magic wand.

That’s also the first video I’ve ever posted on YouTube. Part of me would love to make weird videos for YouTube, but another part of me really detests editing video (which is why it’s taking me days and days to finish the video compilation I’ll finally be posting for members today). I *hate* watching footage OVER and OVER again and doing all the little time-wasting things you have to do just to produce something completely amateurish and mediocre. Fortunately I like amateurish, mediocre videos as long as they have a wee bit of personality so I don’t feel totally bad about My Crappy Videos — as long as they’re getting a few people off and/or eliciting a few giggles I’m happy.

I’m also going to be posting the first in a series of questionnaires/forms for members to fill out so we can get to know them better. This is yet another task that sounds deceptively simple (just type out a few questions, Trixie — you’re a fast typist!) but took shitloads of time to concoct even after I bought a subscription to a site that does the hardest parts of the server-side coding for me. I actually enjoy doing this kind of work, though, much more than I enjoy editing video because the video stuff requires a lot of waiting around (for things to encode) and watching things over and over . . . you aren’t actively working or thinking all of the time so it really makes me want to slit my throat with boredom and aggravation. The form thing actually feels much more creative to me and I actually enjoy repetitively fucking with the little details to make it work.

TITTY-WATCHING HEAVEN

The heavenly spa was BUSY on Thursday and I had at least three unaccompanied hours to myself to simply gaze at the naked babes, ranging in age from eighteen to eighty, as they roamed from one vat of water to others.

So many, MANY boobies. All so exquisitely perfect and naturally crafted. All different nipple colors, shapes, sizes, and degrees of firmness and size. Every time I thought I’d spotted the perfect pair, a new set would quiver into view and I could barely contain my amazement and deep appreciation for the artistry of the human body, particularly in the chest area of females (though there were buttloads of beautiful ass and thigh that made it hard for me to keep myself from quaking and speaking in tongues of worship).

The most amazing rack I saw was on the oldest woman there. Her rear end was shot all to hell, as you’d expect on an elderly woman: atrophied, dimpled, etc. The rest of her body was regular, though, and her big-ass titties? THEY WERE THE BREASTS OF A HEALTHY WELL-PRESERVED 40 YEAR OLD. I swear to God, I’d have swapped knockers with her — they were NICE. And no, they were absolutely not fake; they definitely hung fairly low, but they still seemed plump and defiantly youthful.

Anyway, you just don’t see that kind of overwhelmingly delicious VARIETY of body types and differently-goddess-like attributes in any place at one time. Unless you’re a chick at the spa. I hope they don’t ban me for saying this, but it’s like a STEAL getting an all day pass to to stare at that for only thirty bucks!!!