TastyTrixie.com

Thanks to my cool, encouraging fellow chathost FuzzyBunny, you’re going to have an opportunity to read this blog, an irregularly kept journal detailing some of the pertinent details in the life of a VCH (video chathost).

SCARY BUT TRUE!: I like chathosting so much I requested a two month leave of absence from my real “work”. I have been there over five years and am BORED. I need to do something wild . . . bohemian. . . scandalous. So I’ve got two months to see if I can support myself (pay for health care, taxes, etc. . . ) by “working” on iFriends. If I can make enough money chathosting (and other related ventures), I will quit my job. If I can’t, I’ll go back to the mundane uncreative life of a middle-manager in a manufacturing environment. Blech! If that happens I will probably not continue chathosting but will devote myself to pursuing an MBA and climbing up the corporate ladder. Oh well, at least I will have something fun to talk about at my 10 year class reunion which will be rearing its ugly head in a matter of months.

“So what did you end up doing with *YOUR* college education?” “Me? Well I juggle phone-sex with stroking my snatch in real-time on the internet!”

My goal is to make fed ex. Every week. (for those of you out-of-the-know, iFriends Fed-ex’s our paychecks to us if we make a certain amount of money).

CONFESSION: this goal was not made completely for practical ecomonic purposes. Ahem. It’s actually because the Fed-Ex boy is fucking gorgeous. I thought he was going to invite himself right into my apartment last time he came over. Hehehehe. He kept standing on his tiptoes and bobbing his head up and over to peer around me and try to see into my den of vice. “I love your beaded curtains!” Wet and weak-kneed, I wanted to croon back at him, “and I love your jaunty uniform, big boy!”.

NIGHT PERSON: I love working at home. Mostly because I’m a night person and I can’t *STAND* waking up early in the morning. . . when I have to wake up early NOTHING goes right! The timing is all wrong! For example, right after I take a shower I have to take a dump. I have no coordination in the morning either. Curling my hair with a hot iron is *disastrous*. It’s like my nerve endings haven’t warmed up yet so I end up with faux hickeys on my neck where I accidentally held the curling against my skin because I was too tired to hold my arm up that high for too long and I didn’t have fast enough reaction time to get the fucker off my skin before it burned me.

Or maybe I’m just uncoordinated. I was standing naked in my bathroom curling my hair the other day (it wasn’t morning so I can’t use that not-a-morning-person defense) and just DROPPED the curling iron right onto my tit. Yelp!!! Now I have a lovely burn on my upper breast. Beautiful. But as long as my boob isn’t blistered I guess it’s okay. Not aesthetically pleasing, but okay . . .

LAPTOPS & COFFEE HOUSES: Designing a pornographic website while seated in a coffee shop can be . . . difficult, to say the least. And it can be downright humiliating if the nude hooters flashing on my monitor obviously belong to MOI!

Working from home can be somewhat . . . confining . . . and LONELY! So why not drag the laptop out for a caffeine fix and do some work while people watching? Well . . . the answer is simple . . . *I* ended up being the person of choice to watch. Despite my best attempts to be inconspicuous, the seating arrangement did not allow me to have my back to a wall with no possibilities of laptop spying from either side. So I chose to huddle down into a cushy chair with the monitor pointed, well . . . towards the street-side sidewalk-bordering picture window. I swear, I thought the angle would make it impossible for any of the people outside to gawk while I dragged my T&A around on the screen.

I was SO wrong!!! An Arquette-ish tall gent in a trench coat approached me and crouched down to cushy-chair eye-level to diplomatically begin telling me with a certain amount of halting discomfort, “I’m uhh . . . . not saying you have to *STOP*, but ummm. . . I’m the assistant manager here and well . . . you did seem to be *trying* to be ummm. . . well . . . discreet but ummm. . . we can see what you’re doing from outside. And I just thought you might be more comfortable if ummm. . . you moved over ummmm. . . over to a different spot? I’m not saying you have to stop but I thought you’d want to know . . .”

Sonofabitch.

After being branded the slut-with-bad-judement or a complete exhibitionistic pervert, I was a little defensive. So when my glance lingered later on a cute poet-like young man and he responded to my eye contact with a sweet compliment, I fairly roared back at him, “WHAT????!!!!!”. Certain that he had wandered in from outside after getting an eyeful of my nudie pics, I felt sure he hadn’t said what he re-stated, oh shit, “You have really nice eyes.” Still defensive, I said “Oh!!! Well I thought you said I had a really nice ass!”

The poor guy was perplexed and no longer interested in my nice eyes and apparent lack of enculturation in the subtleties of coffeehouse come-ons. He put me right in my place, “No!. You’re sitting down!” Obviously all he could see of my ass was that it was sunk into the cushy chair.

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