TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘aging’ Category

Picture Delia just took of me drying my hair inside the cabin while she stood outside the cabin door looking in:

Might bring back fond memories for someone. And/or be a foretaste of more hair dryer pics to come with someone else. I’ll say no more. They’re almost like inside jokes. Except not really “jokes”.

Thank you, Delia, for interrupting your camming to come outside and do this for me! I tried to take some pictures myself using the self-timer and my little camera-phone tripod setup, but they were utterly worthless relative to the effort and headache I was putting into it. Well, even NOT relative to that.

*****

I haven’t been spending  much time over the past year or so surfing, reading blogs, “researching” things online, etc. But today I did a little of that. It was interesting. But I have nothing to show for it now except a great reminder that now is not the time in my life to get all up in arms and “informed” about important things. More important is just starting my day out on the right foot, working efficiently, and taking care of myself with time and energy left over to be with Delia. There are some goals I want to meet by the time I turn 40 and that’s barely over a year away. And then maybe I’ll do important things. Or just have more time to fuck lots of people. Or just have more time to fuck Delia lots!

Going to get into bed now and start out better tomorrow.

Oasis and Jen just launched a new blog carnival that posts on Sundays. Here’s this week’s theme:

Our theme for this week is: Tell and/or show us your first naughty naked picture.

Everyone with a cell phone nowadays seems to be snapping off (and sxting) naked pictures of themselves – teenagers, celebrities, politicians. When did you take your first seXXXy naked pic? Who’d you bare it all for? And maybe most importantly, what was their reaction? And hey, if you’ve still got it, go ahead and show it!

My first naughty naked picture was taken right about the time I started growing pubes, so I definitely cannot post it here. Plus right about the time I was growing pubes was in the early eighties so we didn’t HAVE camera phones or the internet (or wishlists to get paid on the internet for our naughty pics). So naughty naked pictures were rare and unphotoshopped and glossy.

Around 4th or 5th grade I was pretty excited to get a Kodak disc camera (I told you; it was the 80’s! When disc cameras were fucking STYLIN’ and new!). I stayed excited about it until my friend Irene got one, too.

Copycat. She already had everything . . . why’d she have to get the one cool thing I had too?

Sleepovers only happened at Irene’s house, not at my house. My mom rarely let our friends spend the night, but we could go to other girls’ houses. So one night we were in her fancy girly bedroom – four poster bed, matchy-matchy furniture, etc. – and decided to play model & photographer. I didn’t have my camera with me, but Irene had hers, of course.

I pretended to be the photographer first while Irene modeled. I didn’t press the button to take pictures, I just made a clicking sound with my mouth and encouraged her, like “good . . . CHT! More . . . CHT! Very sexy . . . CHT! CHT!”

Then it was my turn to be the model. I took off all of my clothes while Irene played photographer. BUT SHE PRESSED THE BUTTON AND TOOK A REAL PICTURE!

We looked at each other all shocked and scared. When Irene gets scared and ashamed, her eyes get so big and her mouth so open. “What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do??” She was quivering with fear, and it was ME naked in the picture!

I was like, “here, just take out the disc and we’ll break it up and throw it away – make sure your mom doesn’t find it!”

Irene held fast to her camera and told me I didn’t understand.

“No! We can’t throw it away! I’ll get in trouble!!”

“WHY? It’s *your* camera.” You’re the rich one, Irene. You have tons of stuff and probably half a dozen discs of film waiting to be used.

“I have pictures of our family camping trip on there!!”

Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.

“I have to tell my mom”

Fantastic. I should have known better than to play model and photographer with a girl who thought we were gay for humping each other and confessed to her mom when she stole candy.

*****

Irene’s mom was actually pretty cool about being woken up by her tear-stained daughter to  hear this particular confession in the kitchen with just a light from the pantry on while I just STOOD there. Irene’s mom said something reassuring about how little girls sometimes do these things and play with each other and she’d done it too (like, ONCE or something). And then she had us pray to Jesus about it. It actually wasn’t as freaky as it sounds even though Irene’s mom definitely was/is a conservative Jesus freak.

I was not soothed by the unfamiliar prayers (or by Irene’s mom being in agreement with her that the film with the precious camping pictures should NOT be destroyed), but it calmed Irene down and she went right to sleep after that while I was embarrassed and annoyed there would be no humping that night.

*****

Allow me to remind you again that this was the early eighties, and apparently totally normal / not a crime for a family to take a disc of film in for development that included a picture of a young girl’s bald naked front-crack.

So like a month later we were playing I-don’t-know-what on her Atari (I probably wasn’t even playing, but just WATCHING her play, because it was HER Atari and HER fancy house and instead of playing Pac-Man she’d opt to demonstrate a bunch of games I didn’t know how to play because she just wanted to show off and knew I didn’t have an Atari) and she got all serious and told me sotto voce that they got the pictures back.

I really wanted to have my picture, but she said they cut it up with scissors into itty bitty pieces. Because it was evil.

“What did I look like?”

“Really REALLY white. And skinny. Your head wasn’t in it, but we could see your crack. You looked gross.”

*****

So! That’s how my friend and her mom and dad all got to see my first naughty naked picture. And I didn’t.

Read more posts on FIRST naughty naked pics!

While I wandered around 2-blocks lost, pretending to be a foot shorter and 27 years younger and how much fun that would be, I encountered an example of what I love about our town; two teenage boys, maybe 14 or 15, jumping on a trampoline together, engaged in a role play where one of them played a George W. Bush supporter and the other an Obama supporter. Done in funny voices.

*****

In somebody’s sunny back yard I saw a large, wide rhododendron with pink blossoms growing INSIDE a rickety shed. Like it was built there of dark wood only to shade and shelter this big squat rhody.

*****

One lady has a statue of St. Francis of Assisi on a pedestal next to her front door. His head is broken off and nowhere in sight.

*****

Everywhere you go in our town there are active old people in their sixties, seventies and eighties. They look and act differently than the way television and movies teach you to see old people (and women, in particular old women). They’re engaged, involved, valuable, vocal and a visible majority. Someone told me the average age of people who live here is 54. He said that like it was a bad thing, and such a shame we chased away Walmart because then younger people would want to live here and our town would thrive. According to him.

I am really really glad most people here don’t resemble anybody on television except maybe Northern Exposure a little bit. And the best part is that I get to listen to them every day and so many of them are women. Teaching me things, being patient with life, making fun of it . . . being mad when it’s called for . . . hugging and laughing at me.

May Day marked the ninth anniversary of my TastyTrixie.com members-only area opening and the third year of commemorating the event with photos shot by a flowering fruit tree. I love that we were able to make them sort of retro-spooky and shadowy to contrast with everything so seemingly innocent and sunshine-y about being under an umbrella of white cherry blossoms:

Reading The Once and Future King Outside

The deep intellectual fantasy cleavage of a bookworm in the grass.

Like a lot of nerds, I grew up feeling sort of ashamed of loving books and wanting to spend as much time alone with them as I did. There’s still a shadow side associated with solitude-loving escapists who spend hours lost in stories, and of course people from my generation and earlier turned to them as a source of porno-stimuli. Our public librarian even ratted me out to my mom when I was in fourth grade for checking out books with explicit adult content.

Moody bookworm nestled into shadows with tales of King Arthur.

For this photo set I packed a book-picnic consisting of three very differently-told versions of Arthurian Legend: The Mists of Avalon (best ever), Le Morte d’Arthur (which I have almost no desire to read, but I love to smell its leather binding), and my seventh grade copy of The Once and Future King which I feel so sentimental about it almost makes me cry. Okay, it DOES make me cry.

What is betwixt mine legs? Tis a mystery of dark, hairy proportions!

I think I’m only now starting to come to terms with how much time I desire to spend with books and strive to actually make stories an important high-priority part of my life without feeling they’re just a guilty indulgence I don’t deserve and something my dad frittered away time and money on. I’m not a fast reader anymore now that I let my mind wander, I don’t retain much of what I read, and I think finishing books is overrated. But if I would have acknowledged and planned to make book-enjoyment as much of a priority as I should have back when I started webwhoring, I think I might be in a very humble but healthier and more-satisfying position than I am now.

Tickling my big natural breast with a cherry blossom.

Oh well. You can’t learn everything in books even when they give you the recipe for happiness. Some of us just have to get older and less stupid in small increments. Here’s to learning, regardless of the pace!

Happy late flower-blossoming May Day & anniversary to myself!

I haven’t seen most of Elizabeth Taylor’s movies, but in the favorites I have seen I adored her viciousness and commitment to performing with unflinching ugliness. How many women are willing to do that? How many are even given the opportunity?

Here’s the trailer to my absolute favorite of her films. I was fortunate enough to watch it without knowing what I was getting into except that it was based on a Carson McCullers novel, so if you have an opportunity and interest to do the same, just skip this preview, DON’T read the summary on IMDB, and indulge yourself in some hideous kinky asap.

Also taboo but in a more romantic way: The Sandpiper (it is so hot to see her and Richard Burton together in “an Adult Love Story”):

I know those movies are dated, but at the time were extremely provocative and more progressive than youths today might comprehend. I will always admire Elizabeth Taylor as someone willing to take bold social risks who cared for the humanity of broken characters in real life and in movies.

Here’s a super-belated birthday post I wrote last year but never posted until now. As of March 17th, 2011 I’m back to an even number age:

*****

I turned thirty-seven years old last week and am SO glad to be back on an odd number.

Some people have “issues” with numbers, often with a serious preference for even or odd numbers (and a lot of these people are OCD and/or autistic or Aspies). I’ve always preferred odd numbers which is unusual since most people with this obsession prefer evens, but I’m adamant that odd numbers are more “perfect” with more symmetry.

I know, I know, most people think an even number is more beautiful because when you split it in half, it’s balanced with equal amounts on both sides. These people will do anything to avoid odd numbers, but I myself am uncomfortable with EVEN numbers and feel like something’s missing. Aside from just finding odd  numbers more aesthetically pleasing (the way they look, the way they sound, the way they are in all of my important dates and numbers) I figured it out that for me I always need one left over in the middle to be the anchor. Think of an old-fashioned scale: there has to be a lever in between the two pans. There always has to be that one left over in the middle for me to see/feel everything in balance.

I’m not totally OCD about it . . . I have forced myself to accept even-numbered things and results and times and dollar amounts and can tolerate them without pain (and am often not even aware of whether a number is odd or even), but I always feel a bigger relief and sense of rightness when things come out odd.

*****

Another OCD symptom I was wrapped up in as a pre-teen was weird sympathy for inanimate objects. The biggest daily issue concerned the dishes and how I placed them in the dish-drainer after washing them; I avoided letting any of one type of dishware be “lonely” or forced into a group/family of dishes it didn’t belong to.

We had a lot of tupperware cups. Some had flared rims and cool colors, some were newer/smoother and made in warm colors. I tried very hard to group the new warm ones together and the older, more-sensitive cups with each other. I would feel sad and guilty if one of the old ones had to be lumped up against a gang of stiff new ones all by itself. In that situation it would be better to find the old cup a place apart where it would be safe even if lonely.

From one of my fave funny blogs, UnhappyHipsters.com

This wasn’t a game I played with myself to make doing the dishes more interesting, it was just an uncomfortable given. As I got older I tried to reason with myself, and there have been times in my life where I don’t pay attention to the dishes’ feelings and identities at all, but sometimes I do still find myself wanting to put them in the “right” places and giving myself permission to arrange them in a way that feels good to me. I remind myself that these problems are all in my head, but I will still rearrange the dishes sometimes if things aren’t right. It’s not always about the dishes feelings, but just about building the perfect pile.

*****

One of the presents I gave to myself was time to play with my Magic: The Gathering cards. Not to play the game or really “play” in any sense that most other people have of playing, but to organize and sort parts of my collection. Like arranging rocks and colors on my altar. That is often how I find peace/bliss/relaxation. I sat on the floor surrounded by my cards and enjoyed putting them into stacks by expansion, by colors, by rarity; who would want a birthday party when she could be alone sorting uniformly-sized small cards with artwork and a bunch of special designations indicated by symbols and special text on said cards? Not I!!

*****

There’s a three and there’s a seven.

January thru March 16th of 2011 will be (oddly) even better!

*****

It wasn’t, but I know you can’t win at life through lucky numbers and proper sorting alone . . .

Late in the summer a cat started hanging around our house: in the yard, at the front door looking in the window for us to let her in, paw cocked ready to come in the side door, etc. No collar, so I was tempted to let her come in and/or worried I should find someone to take care of her, but it turns out she belongs to the new people who moved in on our block.

Golden-Green Eyed Kitty Cat

These are pictures I snapped on Sunday of the beautiful old huntress in our yard where she loves to roam, stalk, sit and stare. I stare back because I love her.

Slinky sun-kissed Siamese-y stalking cat.

Glossy sunshiney warm golden kitty cat fur.

Hello, cat!

Snowshoe kitty cat catches me snapping pics of her!

I see you, kitty-cat with your cute white socks.

I don’t know how many days we have left this year to enjoy bright sun that actually has warmth; this is the first week this season we’ve had to turn on the heat. I think I’ll pull these pictures out over the winter and imagine being this cat, feeling my dark glossy coat infused with heat, tunneling through deep green grass in my perfect fantasy-yard, imagining all the birds and rodents and grasshoppers I *could* catch if I didn’t feel so lethargic with warmth and seduced by my own slinky green-eyed beauty.

Your yard is our yard is your yard. Is it time for tea with white gloves?

I know, I know . . . I’m like a weird little old lady. And you don’t know how much I love being a weird little old lady. I checked out a book of poetry for the first time in my life this week and I *love* it. Who know there would come a day when I’d LOVE poetry? Shit happens, kids . . .

P. S. I also love Russian choral music. But that’s nothing new. And don’t think you’ve seen the last photo of our neighbor’s cat, because there’s more where these came from!!!

Warning: this post might gross out some people, so if a certain word in the title makes you uncomfortable, the rest of this entry will probably heighten your discomfort:

I SO enjoyed my nightgown camshow last month (and had an awesome one the day before, too). I wore a long nightie that always makes me feel SO sexy and SO pretty and such a feminine tease. Someone I worked with years ago gave me three Eileen West nightgowns I never ever would have bought for myself, but now that I have them I want a dozen more:

Big Boobs Look Plush Under Pleated Cotton Nightgown

I guess I just really like the feeling of white lengths of cotton flowing all over my body with no panties or bra (like my long white May Day dress).

Pretty lady in long cotton nightgown looks like a sweet mommy tucking you in.

I *especially* like the way these nighties make my jugs look so generous and mobile and soft with the pleats adding more fabric to accentuate them bursting forward. So so ripe and full.

Modest and non-nude, but suggestive and succulent

In my show it was like poetry, talking about being a lady in a long nightgown, and what ladies in long nightgowns like to do and how their pussies get so wet underneath their long long nightgowns. I felt so pretty and iconically feminine, like if Victoria magazine included porn (never gonna happen, I know). Don’t you just want to push that white cotton up-up-up? And see and smell some soft, furry bush?

Free pics of me from a few years ago in a similar night gown: http://www.trixie.com/tgp/Trixie/see-through-nighty

It’s gross I guess, but I also love how skinny my arms and legs look wearing this nightgown. It’s the most feminine interpretation of skinniness, I think. Everything looks so long and pretty and gracefully awkward compared to everything in the middle looking so abundant and juicy.

It made me want to log in to the pay-to-view camsite I’ve been working and make all the boys want me to be their pretty mommy in her modest white nightgown. It’s such a familiar mommy-in-summer look, the soft cotton wafting faded mommy perfume and hugging hands reaching out on long arms to drawn you in. There’s nothing overtly sexual about it except that it’s all ALL all woman, and the modesty is the most naked you might get. A silhouette if the light is right, a sour-sweet stubbly armpit, some long pale leg if she gathers it up a little to step through the dewy lawn to get the paper in the morning.

It’s a look that provokes powerfully confusing strong feelings in a lot of people of both innocent love and taboo lust.

*****

That day we had more people in members-only chat than we’ve had in MONTHS, which also boosted my spirits terrifically. And really everything started looking up on Thursday when and after we fucked (don’t you think this is true?).

Sleepy mommy-type's big Victorian "dirty pillows"

*****

If you want to get me a similar nightgown or inexpensive night slip to fill out my pretty mommy wardrobe, I have a couple ON SALE on my wishlist! It would be nice to have a couple of new drowsy sleepytime gowns to wear this summer.

*****

I hope to blog more later about 1) the camming I’ve been doing and 2) my own shame, discomfort and conflicted feelings about role plays I get off on.

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.