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Archive for March, 2009

Was it watching “ladies” figure skating last night that got me all horny? I don’t know, but I couldn’t sleep and tried to masturbate quietly enough not to wake up Delia, but since I was wearing earplugs myself I couldn’t really tell if I was making noise or not.

The train of thoughts leading there seemed to pick up where my post about tribute jack-offs left off. I started imagining a teenager playing Yahtzee and then trying to decide which girl’s face to ejaculate on in his yearbook. Then there was something about a good dog and a bad dog (I think it was a white German Shepherd) and by that time I was so worked up I took out my earplugs and asked Delia if she was awake. AND SHE TOTALLY WAS! I still don’t know if she knew I was masturbating, but I stopped at that point anyway.

To reach over and fondle her boobs. I really should write a whole blog entry (or book) about Delia’s New Boobs. They’re pointy and swollen and puffy and my right hand goes back and forth from one to the other until I start using my mouth.

I’d love to tell you all about it but I honestly don’t feel like getting all worked up again. If you’re one of our members and heard it on the spycams (sorry I forgot to turn on the nightvision last night) then you know it was hot. I was shaking. We fucked and then we spooned.

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In other news, I’m agonizing over my hair not being blonde enough. Just the thought of negotiating a redo makes me extremely uncomfortable, but I think it has to be done. Sigh.

Last week I was in a hurry to have an orgasm, so I went to *quickly* find a free amateur video of some stranger (ANY stranger) jerking himself off. This video, “A Tribute to Jodie”, looked like a winner so I grabbed my eroscillator, shoved it under the waistband of my sweats, and pressed play.

The “tribute” part of the title gave me a good hint what I’d be watching: a guy at home with his webcam recording himself jacking off onto one of his favorite photos of a camgirl or pornstar. I’ve seen these things before and have always been fascinated by them.

LET ME REITERATE: I was not in the mood to be choosy about selecting the video; I wanted to get off as soon as possible with anything remotely visually stimulating and obscene. As long as it was a closeup of a guy jerking his cock, I didn’t care. For a quick cum, homemade jerkoff videos are surefire winners for me because they’re usually the right length: they get right down to business with no distractions. Even better, there’s an extreme element of voyeurism for me especially when the guy is using a toy (like tiny fake pussies) or in some way sharing a method that is in some way humiliating/exposes more about him than just his cock. I love seeing a guy’s private masturbation ritual. The tribute thing? If I were a guy I would try to keep that secret and would be *totally* embarrassed to admit, let alone SHOW MYSELF OFF, doing it. Because it seems so humiliating to me, I *love* watching it. The notion that some guy is so fucking crazed by his desire to get off that he will DO something so ridiculously contrived and teenage-insane makes me incredibly hot.

Having said that, the LAST thing I want is for someone to record such a tribute to me if they’re planning to inform me of it/beg me to watch it. Noooooooooo, please! NO! Don’t ever do that! If you do, don’t do it expecting me to masturbate to it or tell you that it made me hot. The best you can hope for is that I’ll laugh and thank you for doing me the “honor”. Being put into a situation where I will feel *obligated* to watch it and issue a polite response (or even worse, a big description of how it made me masturbate) would totally ruin the whole thing for me. The whole point of masturbating is to DO IT ALONE, whenever you want to, without having to interact with someone. I do not want other people picking out my masturbation fodder for me because I will get all tense thinking the person expects me to drop everything and go wank. When I masturbate? I do not want to feel obligated to anyone or under pressure to perform or to flatter someone else (especially when they’ve done something as grotesque as defile my image by splattering it with their cum). I don’t want someone watching me while I take my two fully-clothed minutes slouched in my site with my hands down my sweatpants. The last thing I want is someone emailing me over and over again, “have you watched my tribute to you yet? I can’t wait for you to see it!”, or, “oh darn! I missed it! Can you do it again so I can see? After all, I recorded that JUST FOR YOU and I want to see you cum to me while I cum on you! Thanks babes!”

TORTURE!!!!

The whole hot thing about watching videos like these is that they *are* kind of gross. I *don’t* want to be there. I *don’t* want a stranger’s ejaculate on me. I *don’t* want to synchronize our orgasms in real time. The whole point of watching porn, for me, is to NOT be involved with someone else. I can’t lie — there’s definitely a freak show element to the whole thing, and I mean “freak” in the most normal sense of the word; the solitary freak we all have/are when we’re alone (and if you don’t have that freak element to you? I totally cannot relate).

I know all of this sounds crazy given that I have been broadcasting spycams since 2002, so obviously? People DO watch me masturbate! The thing of it is (and always has been) that the reason I do a lot of what I do is because *I* am a voyeur at heart. I offer these things because they are what I seek, not so much because I am an exhibitionist (which of course I *am*, a little, but not to the extent that I’m a voyeur). I know I would like to catch someone at her desk, awkwardly masturbating and not acknowledging me at all. I do not want it to be sexy or a “show”, I want it to be authentic and authenticity is often measured in my book by how ugly it is. The more unattractive it is, the better. As the masturbator? I expect the voyeurs not to try to engage me during this process. It’s *private*. That’s the whole *point*. It’s not supposed to look like porn, it’s supposed to be real, and for it to be real, you cannot interrupt or inject yourself into the scene.

One of the things that continues to be a challenge for me as a webwhore is being able to share my turn-ons without making them sound like an invitation OR an insult. I’m a very solitary, private person in many ways, so I sometimes get overwhelmed trying to preserve alone-time; I wind up going too far in my attempts to maintain distance, to the point where it backfires on me and sometimes hurts people’s feelings. How do I explain that I love watching guys jacking off on ink-rippled homemade print-outs of naked chicks or faces with their mouths open, but that when I masturbate to this I don’t want to turn it into an interactive event? How do I then qualify that to say, “UNLESS you’re paying me to interact with you while you do that, in which case it’s totally hot!” (which is true; if you pay for my time, providing I have ample amounts of it free, then I *prefer* doing shows where I get to watch someone else masturbate; I just don’t want to do that when I have a sudden 2-5 minutes when I desperately need to bust my own private girl nut).

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I drafted the above entry almost a year ago and never finished/posted it. Like a lot of public posts about “what makes me horny”, I feel compelled to ruin the hotness by outlining boundaries to preserve what’s left of my . . . personal space, I guess you’d call it.

The weird thing is that not long after I wrote this my feeling about it changed. I became very interested in the concept of guys jerking off on my pictures and wasn’t sure I wanted to send a message totally discouraging it. It’s something I would like to see without them knowing I’m seeing/hearing it. I do not want to be under pressure to respond to it, but in certain situations I think I’d enjoy that, perhaps if the jerker paid for a phone call for me to (gently but pointedly) humiliate him for doing it. Or INSTRUCTED him to do it again. Maybe on the same picture. Because if I were going to TELL someone to jerk off on my picture(s), I’d make sure he knew he’s not allowed to throw any of these photos away. Instead he’d have to keep every single one, including pictures of other women (with a few men thrown in for good measure). And maybe if his printer ran out of ink he’d have to reuse an already-jerked-on print-out.

This idea became so exciting to me, I began to think I’d like to collect videos of people jerking off on our pictures to post in the members-only area TrixiesHouseboy. Or sending us pictures of themselves (a la Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character in Happiness) in front of a whole wall of damp printouts glued up with cum.

Part of me is telling myself you don’t REALLY want to see that, Trixie. You really don’t. And another part is quite certain she does.

I’m a (dirty) blonde again!

It’s not as light as I was maybe aiming for/have had in the past, but it will get there. I trust the colorist I have now completely and think this is a good transitional, natural-looking dirty blonde. Every time I go back it will get lighter. AND SLUTTIER!

It doesn’t look it in these pictures, but the color reminds me of Irlene Mandrell’s back when Barbara Mandrell had her show; obviously I’m dating myself, but I thought Irlene was HOT (and that show was RAD) so I’m totally flattering myself with the comparison. Other than the hair color (as I remember it in the show) I am/look nothing like “Irlene Mandrell! What’s a nice girl like you . . . “

Man, chicks were so much hotter/sluttier in the eighties. The satin shirt, fake-stupid voice, eyeliner, tight jeans and boots give me a nostalgic hard-on.

*****

I’m excited about going to bed tonight, partly because I exercised for more than 90 minutes (gasp — this is massively unusual/hard for me), but mostly because Delia got wood. For our bed. Because our mattress is too soft and saggy which has made her back get totally fucked up to the point where lately she gets up in the middle of the night to sleep on the floor or in the guest room (which also has a too-soft mattress, but she can toss and turn without worrying about disturbing me). Today she got a thick sheet of plywood to put under the mattress/over the box springs and it seems to have made a big difference judging from the short after-dinner nap I took on it. I can’t wait to see what a full night on it will do.

My birthday last week was filled with ding dongs and dildos and a deep sigh of gratitude that a few people treated me to a trip to the salon tomorrow to go back to being a blonde.

I sort of stretched out my own personal celebration, doing shows on my birthday proper, then attempting to watch an engrossing movie, selecting Changeling which was sort of a big fat mistake. YES, it was engrossing. In a horrible, harrowing, gut-wrenching way. And even though I knew I was being totally emotionally manipulated by the film industry, I couldn’t just TURN IT OFF the way I did with Titanic (you heard me — I shut that melodramatic motherfucker off and refused to watch it past halfway).

Changeling pretty much ruined our plan to go see The Reader the last night it was playing in town. Instead we opted for something a little more uplifting to balance out the trauma of Changeling: we moved the Playstation (a birthday present from years back) into the bedroom and played a snowboarding video game (SSX3) for hours. And ate ding dongs. Well, *I* ate ding dongs. Delia didn’t.

And then I threw the rest of the ding dongs away. Because a) my birthday was OVER, and b) I have a goal to lose 15 pounds by June 1st (or less if I’m satisfied/feel good before I get there; since I’ve already lost four since I made the goal, I only have 11 to go). I definitely don’t want to lose TOO much of this action:

I continued celebrating a couple days ago when I noticed our friend had a two-for-one print sale going on and since I hadn’t bought any of her art yet, I treated myself! It was affordable and made me happy.

But what I *really* wanted to do for my birthday was spend some more time reading Paul Auster’s The New York Trilogy which is SO FUCKING AWESOME I set it aside because I seriously couldn’t stand for it to end knowing there would be a big gaping emptiness without having more of it to look forward to. So today? I went to the used bookstore and picked up the only two Auster paperbacks they had on the shelf (Oracle Night and The Brooklyn Follies). Now I can finish The NY Trilogy and still feel like there’s a reason to live.

I also looked for the second and third books in the Abhorsen series, but they only had Sabriel (which I finished months ago and want to hurry up and continue before I forget everything). I grabbed a couple other titles (ex. Codex) plus some appealing books in the “free box” (ex. The Tommyknockers) and guiltily made my way home with a satisfying stack of stories to chew on. Sometimes I leave the books I buy in the car or somewhere Delia won’t see them right away because I feel so bad about spending the money on them when I don’t even read most of them right away (if ever) and I refuse to GET RID of any of them unless they really suck total ass, so they’ll all be living with us forever.

The thing is, I need to have CHOICES. Because there are some moments on the toilet where I’m after a very specific kind of book to lull myself into a comfortable shit. Or the weather demands a certain genre. Or I’m emotionally craving a story that delivers total escapism. And fuck . . . when it only costs $25 to buy a big armful of pleasure, how wrong can it be? Plehhhhhhhszhoooooooor . . . is in the booooooooooks.

Maybe tomorrow after I endure the torture of getting my hair colored, I’ll continue celebrating my birthday with some Paul Auster and a sweet mug of Russian Caravan tea.

We very much enjoyed having Kris Madison and company over this weekend, including her pug:

We indulged in the finest pizza, quiche and naughty treats from McDonalds, played birthday games, saw Coraline (delightful), talked sex, introduced Kris to Deep Space Nine, and didn’t get QUITE enough sleep (WELL worth it).

I also got enough work done that I feel carpal-tunnel-syndromey in my right wrist, but not enough done that I’m not panicking right now since tomorrow we’ve got chat and shows lined up for members to celebrate my birthday and St. Patrick’s Day and I’m still trying to finish a members-only update and eleven promotional galleries I meant to send to affiliates way BEFORE St. Pat’s.

My show tomorrow (the 17th) is at 4 pm (PACIFIC TIME), Delia’s is at 6, and my members-only birthday chat is from 7 to 8:30. If you can’t make that one, there’s another one on Saturday from 4 to 5:30 to possibly draw/determine the winners of the make-me-blonde thing (which, after last week’s terrifyingly low sales (a subject for another blog entry), will be the only way I can afford to make that shiny transition. There is hope for you yet, redhead and brunette lovers!

Here are a few spookily-costumed samples from the gallery I just posted for members:

I’m going to keep the most lickably pink shots private/just for members this time around.

*****

Delia never complains about being in pain; since I met her seven years ago she’s only mentioned something hurting her a handful of times, one of them when she had salmonella poisoning. This week her back’s been bothering her and getting worse, to the point where she couldn’t even sleep on our soft mattress last night (so soft she thinks that’s one of the culprits) so I didn’t quite get all of my Z’s either (it’s so weird to wake up and not have her there beside me in bed) so I’m going to try to take a nap now since we’ll probably be up late having fun with our company tonight and the rest of this weekend. I want to be well-rested to fully enjoy their visit!

After having the worst sales day on Sunday I’ve ever seen, I changed our Directv package to the cheapest one (that’s still not “cheap”, but anyway). I also scaled back our Netflix from five discs out to three and got excited about a return to listening to This American Life and music more often. And maybe having the attention span to watch entire movies again — something we’ve all but lost in the past couple of years of television immersion.

Some of the cable shows we love best are The First 48, Cold Case Files, Mad Men (swoon), Deadliest Catch, and Intervention — apparently we aren’t alone in being addicted to that show because I got a bunch of tweets in response to my announcement yesterday from people who couldn’t stand to give up Intervention.

I first started watching Intervention alone and totally felt guilty and ashamed watching it, like only a sicko would watch an hour of a stranger’s family’s most private, horrifyingly personal, lowdown moments. I’d record them on our DVR and wait to watch them alone until once when my sister was over she saw it in the list of shows and was like, “oooh! Let’s watch Intervention!!” The concept of all of us watching the show together embarrassed me, like it’s something you should only watch in private (which of course isn’t true).

It’s not that I think the show is bad — I think it’s awesome, and since then Delia and I have watched it together many times — it’s just really intense and weird. I do think it’s informative (I love that they focus on all kinds of addictions and sicknesses from gambling to OCD to Diabetes to eating disorders) and helps build empathy, but it still feels wrong to watch it for entertainment. But we do, I guess. One person tweeted to me that she thinks that show is depressing with a capital “D”. And it’s true, that’s the embarrassing part — why would we watch something totally depressing for FUN? I guess there are a million awkward answers to that question.

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One of the first Interventions I watched was repeated last night and pissed me off in a giant way. The family seemed more concerned with Cristy’s stripping than with her drug use, like the STRIPPING was THE sign she was way out of control (and what a great marketing hook, too!). Whenever I see that crap it disturbs the fuck out of me the way people alienate someone who already feels totally isolated and judged by being TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID about sex work. I’m not saying that the sick women on Intervention would choose sex work if they weren’t in desperate situations, I’m just saying that their friends and families are usually so fucking retardedly focused on that part of it that they contribute to the problem and I’ve never seen that addressed in any healthy way on the show (though some of the families seem to have it in a more rational perspective).

It reminds me of a story I saw about a missing woman, maybe on America’s Most Wanted, told mostly from the perspective of her “loving” parents who OVER and OVER said they knew she would NEVER have become a prostitute in Las Vegas of her own volition and that her evil boyfriend HAD to have MADE her do it and caused her to disappear. They said stupid shit over and over again about how they knew their darling daughter would never have chosen this life for herself and how badly they wanted her back so she could be her old innocent self again. Of course she was probably dead so it probably doesn’t matter, but all I could think is that if this woman WAS alive and in a bad situation and saw her parents saying that shit, she’d probably rather whither up and accept her current lot than think she could ever live near them and their unaccepting ignorance again. People are so hyperfocused on how degrading they believe sex work always is that they can’t fucking think straight, like these parents who seemed unable to recognize that their daughter willingly chose this boyfriend AND sex work in Vegas, and that the real sad and scary thing was that someone — possibly the boyfriend — probably killed her for it. Instead they went on tv, rejected her choices (that probably came from wanting to get away from their moronic idealized perception of her) and shat all over her.

This is why I need to stop watching TV. Because this crap HAUNTS me! And I haven’t even said anything about the MOST DISTURBING episodes of Intervention and America’s Most Wanted! Gah!

Do they have Intervention on DVD?

No!! I need a break!! NO MORE INTERVENTION!!!!

PS – Ken is totally our favorite interventionist.