TastyTrixie.com

Archive for June, 2010

Do wild roses bloom twice in the summer or is this their last gasp?

Are these the last of the wild roses for this season?

Last year was so different; everything blossomed much earlier this year so I can’t count on memories of last year for shooting certain things.

*****

After my grey-mood of a post last night, Delia and I were talking and realized that during her recovery from surgery we’ve been touch-deprived for over a week. It’s not that we haven’t touched each other at all, but we haven’t gotten our daily doses of cuddling, much less fucking. I mean, there’s really only been one position she can get into in bed and has been in pain most of that time until recently, so that could be contributing to a general condition of malaise. We spent a little time working around it last night, though, and that helped!

I can’t believe that the days are starting to get shorter again.

June full moon at twilight

I should be happy that the nights are getting longer and darker again because I haven’t been sleeping well at all. Part of it is that Delia in her post-operative state is having a harder time than normal sleeping, but mostly my brain and body chemistry is torqued again causing the chaos in my head to be ratcheted up too many notches. I have really loud, disturbing, repetitive thoughts and dream WAY too much. It hasn’t reached peak nightmare state (yet), and having been through this a number of times now for extended periods AND BEING ABLE TO GET BETTER/recover with no symptoms I’m not too worried, just annoyed with myself for not maintaining my health better.

I have way more pleasant things to blog about, but just thought I’d throw out a photograph and make it a quickie.

The good news is that I’ve done a lot of camming the past couple of days including some private shows which was pretty thrilling – it’s been a long time and I really enjoyed it, especially the longer one-on-ones. It’s such a relief to be able to immerse myself in someone else’s fantasy and do a totally concentrated job on satisfying one single person and know I did it well. It’s rewarding to bring people pleasure and have evidence of that in their gratitude, compliments . . . and the immediate payoff. It’s a welcome change from putting so much time and energy into promoting our sites and doing nerd work where the monetary payoff is very very detached and delayed from the investment of work and time. On the other hand, I can’t keep up with blogging and site maintenance and promos AND do a lot of camming AND stay healthy recover my health.

Here’s hoping I catch up on my sleep tonight so I can do more webwhoring this week! I’d like to be able to afford some time to spend with my family soon. I feel physical grief to my core at not having seen my nephews in MONTHS. They grow so fast and change so much, I hate missing out on all of that time and all of those changes.

Gah! Sorry this post isn’t more uplifting. If you keep up with my twitter I *think* you can tell I’m not the constantly miserable sad sack I sound like here.

I meant to post this before we left last week, but better late than never! See also TrixieAndFriends preview:

Trixie's thick ass and lenses

I would love to be able to justify shooting more porn wearing my glasses but I’m never sure if many people are into it (and if lots of others are definitely NOT into it). Normally I wouldn’t care, but shooting photos with glasses on is actually kind of hard to get right without a bunch of crazy reflections off the lenses. Anyway, I guess I’m just begging for people to tell me how aroused I make them when I wear my specs.

You can check out other people’s Half Nekkid Thursday pics for this week here (links are in the comments). There just might be some good solstice-celebrational pics in there.

Big Boobs with Giant Areolas on Blonde with Thick Glasses

And if you want to see me getting a load of cum on my glasses, here’s a preview of role play video we did that winds up that way (NOTE: if power play role plays trigger you, DO NOT watch this):

In the wake of her breast augmentation surgery, Delia wasn’t supposed to lift anything over three pounds, raise her arms above her head, or really do anything at all for at least a week. But the first thing she did when she got out of the wheelchair and into the taxi cab was grab my heavy backpack and try to lift it into her lap (bumpy cab ride, sore boobs, she wanted a cushion). I was like, “noooooo!! What are you doing?!? You’re supposed to ask me to help you with things like that!!”

Clouds & sky the color of a Maxfield Parrish Painting

It wasn’t just that she was loopy from the surgery and still slightly sedated; during the time we spent in the hotel since then when I’ve been supposedly “taking care of her”, I’ve finally been able to see how extremely unlikely it is for Delia to ask for help. She just doesn’t do it. After more than eight years together you’d think I’d have noticed this before, and I have to an extent, but it never made the big impression on me it has in the past week.

I don’t know if it’s that she doesn’t think to ask for help, or doesn’t like asking for help, or is just doggedly determined to do everything herself. Or if it’s just ME that she doesn’t like to request help from. That would make sense, given the way that we met and our relationship was structured at the beginning with her as my “houseboy”; I told her what to do and she did it.

Normally I think that was a game that we stopped playing a long time ago, but I think I’m very wrong about that in some ways. It was never a game. Maybe it was a stylized way of expressing needs and personality traits that we’ll always have, that will always be a huge part of the dynamics of our relationship. And it was never about sex as much as it seems to other people or might have seemed to us at the time.

I have tried over the years to DEMAND Delia make demands of me when she needs or wants something or feels I’m not contributing enough in some ways. “Just TELL me if you want me to get off my ass and do something!! You don’t even need to say please — it’s not efficient! I don’t care!! Just tell me what you want me to do!!” It’s pretty stupid to hope for that (both because it is unlikely and because neither of us probably want to operate that way), and this past week is helping me see that.

Again, I don’t know what goes on inside Delia’s head and what the main obstacle(s) is/are to asking for help, but I can more plainly see through this experience that I really don’t like being interrupted to assist people. I don’t like nursing people enough to want to do it except on very rare occasions and in very limited capacities. I like the IDEA of being sweet and kind in that way, but mostly I’m just not.

It’s not that I don’t like physically attending to people or taking care of them — sometimes I love it — but I prefer to do it on my own terms (when *I* want to, not so much every single time someone requires it). I’m a very receptive person to people’s needs and demands and emotions and hurts and vulnerabilities and desires. Except for when I’m not, and then I’M REALLY NOT, and it’s very difficult for me to censor my impatience. I don’t like for people to feel like they’re putting me out, but I just hate being interrupted. My reflexive assholeness during these times continues to be a challenge for me to contain and a mystery to me of how deeply it may or may not effect my relationships with people close to me and their emotional safety around me: with Delia, most importantly.

These past few days I have asked her a million times if there’s anything I can do for her and checked in with her a billion times with how she’s feeling (for fear she won’t express it otherwise and I won’t know whether or not she’s healing awesomely or in total pain; she very very rarely tells me she is in pain, even when she IS). But maybe a lot of my millions of questions are my own anxiety-riddled way of trying to avoid being interrupted when it’s less convenient to me and just expressions of fear that I will not have enough control over the situation (whatever the situation is) if she doesn’t tell me what’s going on. I am not always being totally genuinely helpful or selfless, and I catch myself being irritated a lot. I don’t know how to explain this without sounding like more of an asshole than I am — I’m not irritated with her and I totally understand her needs and WANT her to express more of them, but I’m just really incredibly shitty about controlling my annoyance, no matter how tiny it is (if you know me at all, you know that LOTS of very little things grate on my nerves, things that other people don’t even notice; you should hear how much I freak out about florescent lights, for example, so it’s nothing personal).

The way I am in response to interruptions (even when I appear to be doing nothing but staring vacuously into space) is very much like normal people are in response to somebody sneaking up behind them when they think they’re alone and screaming “BOOOOOOO MOTHERFUCKERHAHAHAHA!” and tickling them really hard under the arms. It’s unreasonable to think a normal person will ever NOT (or ever SHOULD not) respond to that with an elevated heartrate, unsettling verbal protestation of some sort, and even resentment towards the person who startled them with that fright unless they’ve been broken down over weeks or months in a prisoner of war camp or something. Similarly, I’m not sure that it’s reasonable for me to think I (or other people with wiring similar to mine) will ever train myself out of responding with aggravation to intrusive stimuli. I do work on it and try to be aware of it and try to learn from experiences like this one of being in a hotel room with a loved one recovering from surgery for days on end, but I also recognize that sometimes the best thing I can do is acknowledge what is not my strong suit, try to explain my limitations with sincere apologies, and just avoid the hell out of situations that test me for extended periods of time (and thank the powers that be that I have that luxury).

Still, it’s really depressing to know that people I love have good cause to be nervous about what kind of peevish reactions they may get when they approach me. It’s not like I jump and backhand every living creature that gets within two feet of me — it’s more subtle than that, but still — over time it probably impacts them in unpleasant ways I wish it wouldn’t. I guess I can console myself that other people (even “normal” people) are way worse than I am about this and don’t even acknowledge it as a problem.

*****

Once I expel my initial big melodramatic sigh at being asked for help, I do enjoy helping sometimes (this is another problem I have: I take a really really long time to do things other people quickly rush through — this drives my little sister and my mom crazy, how I will take forever to chop up a vegetable or read a bedtime story to my nephew when apparently I’m supposed to know that you’re supposed to just make simple shit up to turn pages that have more words on them than three year olds can process but those are more reasons I hate helping people sometimes; they won’t let me do it my way or they get mad at how long it takes me or the questions I ask to perform the requested task). This also drives Delia crazy, I think, but she is better at censoring her irritation than my mom and sister are and is more sensitive to me getting really defensive about it.

Sometimes — actually, a LOT of times — I actually enjoy “helping” so much after I get over the pain of switching gears that I’m extremely averse to rushing through it. I don’t know how to do certain things without care or savoring their details. I want to do that thing to the exclusion of everything else, to be totally immersed in it.

You know how Delia’s hair is naturally super curly? She has to put a whole shitload of oils and cremes and conditioners in it to keep it from being a big frizzy monster bush. While she’s recovering, she can’t have her arms up and hands in her hair to do that, so she has sweetly asked me to dry her hair and apply these products.

So I try to choke down my .75 second annoyance with the poor timing of it all, what with me having finally gotten my fingernail properly placed to lift a scab off my scalp or tweet something I think is really pithy, and go into the bathroom where she’s sitting on the toilet. I try to sop up the moisture from her hair gently so I don’t damage her hair or break her neck, but I must be doing it wrong because Delia rearranges the towel to prompt me to go at it a different way. Then I start really getting into slicking my hands with oil and distributing it as evenly as possible through her hair, coating every frizzing spot. Then she has me put in her leave-in conditioner and comb both that and the oil through. She informs me that I can’t possibly apply TOO MUCH of this, but I still prefer to portion out gobs of it in individual handfuls instead of just dumping it on all at once. Then she has me put a clear no-frizz curl-keeper serum and I scrunch it through and shape it and fluff it even though she tells me I don’t need to do that; it will get big all on its own, but I still want to feel her cool, damp hair in my hands and move it around on her head.

I love her so much while I’m doing this and feel so tenderly and totally in love with taking care of her this way and protecting her hair (even though she’s chuckling to herself over how fucking long it’s taking me and how insistent I am that she just let me do it my way I never get to do this when she tries to explain I don’t need to be so careful about it and the way I’m doing it isn’t going to make a difference). And for a stupid STUPID heartbreaking moment I love it so much that I wish we had a child, a little kid with hair to comb and a head to pat and stroke and lavish love on and look up at us while we braid her hair or whatever.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m thinking, wanting a little person with constant need when I’m so easily aggravated, but then I think of all the daddies who are like, “don’t disturb me while I’m in my den/watching the game/working on my hobby car!” And I know everybody loses patience sometimes. And I know that my nephews don’t think I am mean or impatient or unapproachable. But they also don’t recognize that they’ve never gotten to stay over without their mom for more than one night because THAT WOULD BE TOO LONG FOR ME TO ENDURE. Anyway, I can’t even brain my OWN hair and have never wanted to learn to braid anybody else’s. If we had kids I’d probably shave their heads to make things easier.

So I guess thank the stars or whatever that we didn’t get pregnant.

But I confess, we’re still paying for sperm storage. JUST IN CASE.

*****

I remember my sister barging in asking what in the world was taking so long???? last time she was over with her kids and I was in charge of pre-bedtime with my oldest nephew, Mr. Squishypants. I’m like, we’re listening to music! and talking about the tree-guys! and just sitting here watching the candle flame!

She was like, JESUS, Trixie — hurry up! And I whined for her to just let me do it my way! I’m the aunt! I never get to have this special time with him!

She just sighed and was like, “okayokayOKAY!” And it took me awhile to remember that she was waiting for bedtime with me, her sister, too and for both her kids to be asleep so she could relax and I was using up all of our time together because I don’t know how to fucking balance things or rush through what I love even if it’s to get to something else I love just as much.

I mean, just don’t get me started if you need to have something done in a big fucking hurry. And that is why I have such a hard time starting anything at all. Because I know it will take me a long-ass time and I won’t want anyone to interrupt me while I’m doing it.

I thought I’d be blogging a ton and going to museums and reading books and singing on streetcorners to make money to blow on sexy new outfits to clothe Delia’s new boobs while she’s recovering from her Friday surgery, but I haven’t done any of those things (surprised?).

Well, I *have* read some books.

Anyway, her fresh new boobs are looking big and . . . FRESH (that pic was snapped mere hours after surgery/the same day), in the way implants look when they’re new, plus a little gory underneath because of her stitched up incisions lined in blue marker and shiny/wet-looking with silagel steri-strips (I’m always confusing dildo materials with medical supplies).

Anyway, we’re flying homo tomorrow (these typos are what happen to you when you’ve been in San Francisco for a week, apparently) and we will resume our usual schedule of being boring on our voyeur cams, especially now that I can’t touch Delia’s boobs. That’s the part all of the proud husbands and boyfriends don’t tell you about, the way you only get to look at them for weeks or months while the little woman heals.

They’re awesome, though, and I’m so glad that I got that Ativan prescription for the plane along with an Ambien bonus. Even with the anti-anxiety meds I was a little skittish. I only wish I’d have thought to take it for the terrifying cab rides to and from the hospital. I am really just a frightened country mouse and this city is like a big piss-spattered blanket of concrete offering no solace except in the form of expensive foodstuffs. I like it, but after a week my nerves are frayed by all of the people and bustling and the alternating aromas of hot aged urine, delicious grilled meats, and skunky weed. Even the rotation of our room’s ceiling fan in the corner of my eye when I’m trying to read and block out the sound of the hotel’s pigeon mascot is about to give me a fucking seizure. But don’t feel sorry for me, I’m having fun and Delia is the one in REAL pain, not I.

I’m not complaining, just trying to make up for all of the crazy I haven’t been sharing during my period of blog silence! Because that’s what you come here for, right? To laugh at my hypersensitivity to stimuli that the rest of the civilized world tunes out? And the silliness of me feeling this way but denying myself the Ativan instead of using it during situations like this?

Seriously, it’s awesome being here I’ve just been having a hard time FINISHING blogging anything worth reading and if I don’t post something reflecting my curmudgeonly PRESENT, I may not post anything at all. Because it’s hard to do quickly-written justice to the sex dream I had about the frenetic pit bull and the way I almost passed out after I woke from it trying to jerk myself off standing up in the bathroom without letting Delia hear what I was doing.

Delia is just beginning to feel up to the challenge to venturing out to dine (just walking is painful after having 650 CC’s of silicone inserted under the muscles on each side of her chest) so we’re about to head out. All I’ve really accomplished over the past few days is 1) refilling her ice packs, 2) putting her hair in a ponytail when she asks me to, 3) helping her in and out of her button-up nightshirt and inspecting her incisions, and 4) taking her hair OUT of a ponytail when she asks me to. And making food runs!

Allow me to say another thank you to Tom for making these boobs and this trip possible, and for us not having to worry for a moment about how to scrape together the money for not just the surgery, medication, bras and stuff, but also the expense of the trip and food and everything for BOTH of us. Delia is a trooper and it sounds like I haven’t been doing anything very helpful, but it would have been really hard for her to be here alone and/or have to fly back right afterward. I don’t know how people manage on their own to deal with surgeries or broken bones, or even more challenging, how single women with children manage such things!

On a more serious note (speaking of ordeals and moms and stuff), AmberLily’s mom was hospitalized not long after having surgery (of the non-plastic/non-fun kind) and I don’t think they know what’s wrong with her so send positive vibes their way. So stressful, in ways that are much more worrisome than the effects of pigeons and ceiling fans on my fragile little mind.

Tomorrow Delia has her first follow-up appointment with the surgeon. I wonder if we should bring him flowers or a box of chocolates or something? I’m not sure what the etiquette of plastic surgery is in terms of thank-yous to doctors. I know presents aren’t NECESSARY or obligatory, of course, but very little in life IS (I mean, we’re dealing with something highly optional anyway, right?). One of the nurses told us he and his wife love pickles, so maybe some of those. That would be totally funny, to walk into his swanky office dripping green juice from one big, wet state-fair style pickle. Totally an uncitified way of giving thanks.

Yesterday we had a really bad sales day. You tell yourself it’s just one of those days . . . bad luck and such. And then today we had ANOTHER really bad sales day!

Dirty Gutters & Cotton Ball Clouds: June 6th, WA

I’m not writing this to complain or ask why, I’m just logging it out for those of you interested in how business is. As always, I can think of tons of things I could do to improve sales. Like write sexier blog entries than these ones! That still doesn’t account for our sales this year being HALF of what they were at this time in 2007.

Suckerhole

It could be a destabilizing hint from the universe that I can’t really count on ANYTHING. If I’m going to gamble, I could gamble doing something else I want to do and haven’t already been doing for the past ten years, something REALLY crazy! Crazier than internet porn, YES!

It’s hard not to feel lame and sucky when you have much better “products” than you had years ago, but see a marked decrease in sales instead of an increase. Sure, there are patches of blue but many seem framed by thick, foreboding, suffocating clouds of doom.

Okay, I’m being melodramatic. But that’s the life of a small-business owner, I think. You have to be given to severe thrills of optimism balanced by degrading valleys of pessimism.

*****

Our crappy neighbor’s sweet one-eyed kitty was sitting on our welcome mat when I came home from the store, looking at me like she expected me to open the front door for both her and me and to welcome her inside for a feeding. We’ve lived here for years and I’ve never seen her do that, come to our door and indicate she wanted to be let in. It warmed the cockles of my cold, cold heart and made me sad for the millionth time in my life that I’m allergic to cats. I know it’s crazy, but I do believe stranger-cats know when a house is sad sometimes and come over to offer love.

Due to our poor relations with our neighbor and my allergies, I didn’t do anything to encourage the cat, but when I checked on her out there later as she was finally slowly leaving, she kept looking back at me over her shoulder and making eye contact with me, like “are you sure you don’t want me to stay? Because I’ll stay and even come in if you want me to. I’m of a perfectly comforting weight for a lap, see?”

I know: CRAZY. The cats just come to our house because the bird-hunting is so good. I don’t believe that, though. You don’t catch birds sitting on a fucking welcome mat in front of a door, alternating your gaze from the human to the door, back to the human and back to the door.

I’m not a huge fan of photos of the sunset, but I’m posting one anyway as a way to share just ONE beautiful thing we experienced today:

Sunset tonight (June 5th, 2010) from our backyard.

Today we took a walk in the same woods where we took Nico for her last forest walk. It’s the first time we’ve been there since then so it was hard not to think of her, but not necessarily unpleasant because of it. Delia identified birds by their calls:

Olive-Sided Flycatcher.

Orange-Crowned Warbler.

Swainson’s Thrush.

At home I asked her what the birds were in our closest tree:

Cedar Waxwings.

And then over a dozen of them rushed out of the tree right by us.

She’s identified them for me before, but I never remember any of it. I might be cultivating a mental block on purpose because I love having her tell me . . . I like asking her and having her answer. I like being almost completely ignorant and dipping into her body of knowledge and having it be too much for my brain to absorb. I like feeling overwhelmed by the world of birds and having their names sound as new as possible to me each time she pronounces them.

I’ve never been “into” birds (though I’m a big fan of chickens, crows, and owls — all for different reasons, of course — plus some other raptors) so paying any attention to them at all is sort of other-worldly because there are so many of them this time of year and most are so different from anything I remember noticing growing up. They’re kind of a revelation to me, so tiny and animated and enchanting. It’s kind of sickening how much they delight me in the same way I’m slightly grossed out by the way poetry and jazz have grown on me in the past year or so. Like, what the fuck is happening to me?!?

*****

In case you’re wondering what this poppy looked like when it opened, here you go (taken the morning after I took the other ones):

One of the poppy’s sepals thrown off:

Poppy's thick, fuzzy sepal thrown off onto the ground.

In bloom (with another bud below it):

Salmon-colored poppy in bloom.

Oh, and I’m in a much better mood than I was in that other post. I haven’t been getting my B-vitamin shots; I thought I was getting too much because I got headaches a couple of times after getting them (which is part of why I *get* those shots, to *prevent* headaches), so I’ve been taking a liquid form instead and I don’t think it’s quite doing the trick. Anyway, whatever the cause(s) I’ve been a little more anxious and moody lately, among other things, but overall am fine and am working on it. I’m going to take more of the liquid B’s and am refocusing on maintaining a stable blood sugar level and increasing my insulin sensitivity by eating fewer bad carbs. I also did a good job of taking care of myself and a headache on Thursday and Friday without feeling guilty about it because I knew how much work I’ve done this week and that I could afford to get some rest and work a few less hours on those days. Yay for keeping track of hours worked and stuff accomplished instead of only looking at the undone stuff on our long-ass to-do lists!!

*****

We do have porn stuff going on at home and in our members-only areas, I just haven’t been blogging about the sexy stuff as much as I should. But it’s all in there! You can check at TrixieAndFriends.com for some previews.