TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘body parts’ Category

You notice certain physical changes when your hormone balance shifts. Like I knew my boobs would get bigger & more sensitive getting back on the pill and all the other stuff I’m taking/doing.

I’m noticing physical changes this time around in my cunt. Aside from the usual increased lubrication extra estrogen gives you, it *looks* really puffy and fat and smooth and pink. I hesitate to say this, but it looks younger.

The really awesome part is I think it’s making my g-spot and perineum spongier, more sensitive and erotically charged. During my shows today and yesterday my orgasms were really thick, rocking cunt-focused things instead of little pointy tip-of-the-clit climaxes. I love all kinds of orgasms, but it’s always thrilling to experience a variety of them or notice a recognizable shift in sensation.

One of the downsides is the visible part of my clit is shrinking. I was really disappointed to look down last week and notice how much smaller it is than a month ago in spite of having so much less hair. I really like it when it sticks out more and am intrigued, shall we say, by women who have large knuckle-like clits.

Delia’s therapist isn’t a fan of hormonal birth control and the way it can flatline some women’s sex drives, but the benefits of having more chick hormones is such a huge relief to me on so many levels I can only look at the bright sides and wonder how many of them there are. Like, has anyone done any research into the hormone balances of women who squirt versus those of us who don’t or rarely do? I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that squirters are more estrogen dominant.

The other night we heard Martin Short ask Conan O’Brien if it’s okay to say “penis” on television. Conesy assured him that if it’s a “medical” word you can say it on tv. So they said it, “PENIS”, over and over. Martin also said, “ding dong”, “my unit” and a whole bunch of other terms as he used his hands to indicate EXACTLY what part of his body he was talking about.

Google agrees that “penis” is a word that should not be censored; even if you have SafeSearch on “strict filtering”, you’ll get 33,000,000 returns.

Guess what happens if you do a search for “clitoris”? BIG FAT ZERO.

I only learned of this reading Susie Bright’s post about this twisted double standard. Of course, to be fair, “vagina” doesn’t seem to be considered a dirty word since I just turned on strict filtering and did a search for that term and came up with (considerably fewer than penis) results so . . . yeah.

It IS upsetting and there’s clearly a weird double standard; it’s hilarious (in a very dark way) that anyone would think a clitoris is more dangerous than a penis, and “dangerous” IS the opposite of “safe”, isn’t it? Still, I don’t know that I feel exactly the same way about it that Susie does, though I think hers is an important perspective full of many truths and that we should all be pissed off about this kind of bullshit. But part of the hate, shame, and willful ignorance of women and women’s bodies is wrapped up in the shame and disgust men feel (and women AND MANY *FEMINISTS* REINFORCE AND ENCOURAGE) over straight men’s sexual response to women. If it’s a part of the body that makes a straight man’s dick hard — something they want to see and touch and lick and talk about and see pictures of — then it needs to be censored to save those crazed pudwhackers from themselves and the women from the damage that is wrought when men think of women in a sexual way!

I’m not sure “the giant obscene ‘F’ word in Internet censorship is feminism”. Yes, I think this is a feminist issue, for sure, but I don’t think the sole or even the primary motive for/cause of banning a word like “clitoris” from google’s safe search is a clear desire to silence feminists and shroud women and their bodies in a reinforced veil of ignorance. Sure, that’s one of many RESULTS (and there are plenty of places where plenty of people DO make silencing feminists and campaigning against women and knowledge of women’s bodies number one on their agenda) and it’s easy to see why Susie would feel especially pissed about it when she’s not one of the sex-negative feminists who thinks that every boner sprung is a rape waiting to happen (a way of thinking that, combined with the conservative, supposedly apolitical woman’s belief that every time a man masturbates to pictures of women who aren’t his wife that a family is destroyed, has made the men who are still in charge very eager to PRETEND to try to disapprove along with us of their dirty habit of jacking off over images of our bodies) . . . and when you turn safe search off to find “clitoris”, the seventh page-one result is her post on the internal clitoris, etc. Obviously safe search filters could make it harder for Susie to sell books.

A little diversion: laughably, the retarded UNfactual “ask men dating and love tip” page on “understanding the clitoris” ranks higher than Susie’s or Scarleteen’s pages, but that’s probably because a site like AskMen works a lot harder on search engine optimization than educators, artists, writers, political activists, etc.). The web used to be more of a woman, but now it’s poorly micromanaged by algorithms cooked up by men. Are their little mathematical formulas conscious attempts to censor feminist obscenities (like truth)? No. I don’t think so.

There are so many more pointed ways that women and the truths about our bodies told from our own perspectives are smacked down by corporate censors that the banned google clitoris isn’t at the top of my list of things to use as an example. It’s the more obvious and uncomplicated stuff I’ve had to deal with as a pornographer (one of those “commercial porn-makers” Susie identifies as someone who she thinks doesn’t suffer from bans and censorship the way artists, writers, educators and political activists do, which is an annoying and probably unintentional slap in the face I’ve felt delivered from the latter group and their “poor, starving, I-do-it-for-love-not-money mentality” before — I guess they always think we’ll know that they don’t mean pornographers like Tony Comstock who of course get to be included as ARTISTES) that really chap my hide as clear-cut cases of misogyny combined with the anti-sex backlash perpetrated by the feminists who deign to speak for all of us. Again, it’s not that Susie is one of those people, it’s just that I see feminism as one of many complex contributors to internet censorship, not just a victim of it.

So what IS a clear cut case of anti-woman, ignorance-enforcing internet censorship? When credit card companies and their processors tell me my body (and yours, if you’re a woman) is OBSCENE when I’m menstruating and I’m not allowed to talk about it or show pictures of it or have sex with myself or other people while I’m having my period on any domain where I make money selling my porn. When they spider our sites looking for banned words, take them out of context and threaten to take away our ability to be paid for our work even when it IS political, educational, artistic, etc. Guess what? Google is not the entity afraid of my bloody pussy. Google is not the entity hiding or demanding I delete blog entries discussing political, legal and ethical issues containing banned words. I just have to cross my fingers when I make posts like this one that they won’t come fuck with me, but technically I am defying their terms of service right now by posting this and could have my business shut down because of it. And it’s not just “the man” who’s against me, it’s the (other) feminists, too.

Censorship isn’t something you can blame all on men and their holy penises and their desire to stamp out feminism. And I’m starting to rethink that great old joke she mentioned; “if men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament.” It’s totally true, but I’ll bet if that were the case today, feminists would quickly become the new pro-lifers. The gender wars are far from one-sided and I’ve been hit by a whole fucking lot of “friendly fire” over here on “our” side.

I know I’m being oversensitive and carelessly lobbing my own grenades in the wrong direction at people who are my allies, but oversimplifying everything as “anti-feminist” undermines all of our arguments and neglects to acknowledge the ways that some of feminism’s “successes” have led to these failures along the way. There’s a bit Bill Maher does that annoys the FUCK out of me to listen to (off-topic sidenote: I didn’t like much about “Religulous“, fyi), but I can’t help thinking of it right now because some of it’s true and applicable:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Z8j4QJ0oiY&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1]

My guess is that banning “clitoris” has very little (if anything) to do with a campaign to censor feminist thought and information and women’s bodies, and
a whole lot more to do with thoughtlessness along with this thing Bill Maher talks about, with men trained to bow to “feminized”/feminINE values that anything that makes them erect is BAD. When you layer that onto the big problems that we SHOULD be focusing on like a) the people that make decisions in big companies being men, and b) men assuming everyone who uses their tools (like search engines) ARE men, and c) all men are straight, you wind up with guys jumping to the conclusion that any search for a clitoris is one that’s going to make someone bust a nut and is therefore unsafe. Or maybe a whole lot of confused and retarded thought WAS put into it (with a, b and c still factored in) and they decided that since, as feminists will proudly point out to you, they’ve heard that clitoris is the only organ with the sole function of PLEASURE, and MEN HAVE BEEN TAUGHT THAT THEIR PLEASURE IS BAD if they experience it themselves, especially by objectifying women in pictures or on the internet, that it should be banned. Or maybe it’s totally ridiculous to imagine ANY THOUGHT WHATSOEVER went into this arbitrary “decision”. I highly doubt that a bunch of people came together in a room with a picture of a cock on one side of the chalkboard and a vulva on the other, and came to a consensus that CLITORIS is a dirty word but PENIS isn’t, and high-fived each other on the way out the door saying, “right on, man! Another way to stick it to feminism!!”

Ultimately I think it’s paranoid to say, “it’s been clear for a long time that the giant obscene “F” word in Internet censorship is feminism.” And untrue. And I say that as someone who believes it IS true that feminism (and accurate information about women) is censored, misrepresented, considered obscene and something to quash and oppose on a very large, grand scale. I just don’t think that’s the case here with google and the clitoris, and if you want to point at double standards, the more glaring one is ignoring how much power and influence feminists and women in general have had and continue to wield in censoring the internet, art, and women who capitalize (the first offense) on men’s desires by selling them access to their bodies (second offense). It’s wrong to imply that feminist writers, artists, etc. have suffered more from internet censorship than pornographers.

Sure, feminist writers, artists, etc. make less money than smut peddlers as a whole, but that disparity has nothing to do with censorship – porn makes money in SPITE of censorship that FAVORS women writers and artists (who don’t create graphic material that is VISUAL), and is DEMANDED by the tag team duo of feminists and conservative women. You want to know why most women don’t make money on the internet? BECAUSE THEY DON’T WANT TO. Because they don’t even try. Because they are content sitting around bitching and blogging and crying on each other’s shoulders feeling superior because they aren’t whores motivated by money, no they care about PRINCIPLES and getting warm fuzzies commiserating with each other and expect the “community” to take care of them rather than creating something marketable and making enough money to buy influence and support their causes themselves. Because they rely on the man to pay them just enough that they can bitch about it being unfair and that they only do it because they HAVE to, rather than BECOMING the man long enough and with enough success that they can subvert the system. Women don’t make money because they love just scraping by and they think that makes them superior to men, because they don’t think big except in terms of imagining some big plot designed to keep them barefoot and pregnant.

Whatever. Enough of this baloney — I need to stop being a hypocrite and make me some fucking money.

Sorry I haven’t posted anything the past few days; all you’ve missed is a giant broiling vat of premenstrual syndrome symptoms. It’s been almost seven weeks since my last period started. I’m guessing I probably didn’t ovulate this cycle for whatever reason. And all of the pregnancy tests are negative. I mentioned I have really horrid PMS, too, right?

If you want to see a little of what my days have been like check out my Daily Trixie blog (imports all of my twitter posts from the previous day). I personally thinks it’s quite readable, but that might just be my narcissism speaking.

I’ve got my second show of the day coming up in half an hour. My face is tear-stained because of afore-mentioned hormonal problems. Nothing to worry about, it’s just what’s going on for me.

Going to pick a big fucking dildo to use because those skinny ones do NOT cut it when I’m in a mood like this one. And if anyone in the chatroom prods me for DEEP penetration I will scream bloody murder. Look up “G-spot” and have your eyes opened, ye Philistines.

A photo I took of Delia.

We’re back home from our Portland trip and 500 photos richer. Well, 498. And of course we’ll delete many of those, too. Not very productive in terms of shooting, but what we DID shoot was great. Besides, we were really there for Delia’s doctor appointment and also spent a nice evening visiting with our friends, Torn and Toni of KatVixen.com. I realize you all read me telling you how much I like to avoid people and socializing and all of that jazz, so you probably never conceive of how much I actually *do* like people and talking with them, and how hard it is for me to call it a night once conversation is rolling. I think I deprive myself so much of social stimulation that I become parched for it, which creates a vicious circle because I pretty much know I’ll want to overdo it when we meet up with people and then need a week of hermit mode to recover my wits There is often a part of me that *almost* whines to friends, “I wish you/we didn’t have to go” at the overdue end of a visit. A lot of my issues with socializing/needing a lot of alone time are less to do with preference and more to do with the way my brain is wired and that I just wind up blowing fuses trying to process the extra stimuli.

*****

So. A small (or literally a large) reason why we didn’t shoot more photos is that I didn’t recognize in time how overweight I am and that an outfit I packed, THE outfit, the one I was all sexed up to wear and use in a teacher role play, could barely be buttoned/couldn’t be zipped. I love it way too much to wear it incorrectly so it put me in a bit of a foul temper. It was slightly more depressing than our Halloween shoot debacle where I actually SPLIT THE SEAMS of the pirate dress I ordered. That was sort of funny and I wish we’d have gotten the splitting on tape. Oh well.

My conflicting feelings/thoughts regarding my level of physical fitness:
*I think I look and feel fine — nay, almost exactly how I’ve always WANTED to look — for a normal thirty-four year old
*but not a thirty-four year old who sells images of her body and needs to be versatile.
*I don’t fucking WANT to eat less or exercise more. I just don’t WANT to! Okay, I do want to but there are about 567 things on my list of things I WANT TO DO ****WAY MORE**** than exercise. I’d rather be fucking blogging, right? I’d rather be masturbating I’d rather be eating donuts while Delia gets ready for me to take pictures of HER. I would just rather be sitting on my goddamned ass using my motherfucking BRAIN, okay?
*but okay, I *do* want to look good in that outfit, darlings. I *do*. It’s just too perfect. There are SO MANY perfect little outfits. I pretend not to care, but oh, I *do* care, because I want to look so cute and fit in polka dot blouses and dresses with darts.

*****

None of this matters in any real way and it sickens me to even think about it for a moment, let alone go ON and ON about it, torturing myself and others with this fucking weight loss drivel. What a senseless waste of time. But. I think some of my dramatic feelings right now about my body are connected to bigger things than my bigger body. Like admiring some of the work my more cerebral cohorts do and feeling resentful that I don’t have time to do more of what they’re doing. That I’m bogged down by my visually body-oriented work that begs me to tend to it in such time-consuming ways. That my body right now is my most valuable natural resource and I’m trashing it (I would say that Delia’s body is my most valuable resource, but that would open up a whole other can of worms about possession and pimping and shit). That I want my work to focus more on *other* people’s bodies and less on my own. That I want it to fucking WORK PROPERLY but suspect I’m rounding the bend where I can’t take it for granted at all and it wants me to know that. I’m full of suspicious lumps, I can’t seem to get pregnant, and I’m having a hard time disguising my comical bulges.

I don’t like to complain about it or sound pessimistic. It’s important to me to say that I don’t FEEL as bad as I sound. But I *do* need to process these feelings. And remind myself that the reason I do the work I do is because a) I like it/feel driven to, and b) it is part of a plan that *does* allow me to do *all* of the kinds of work I want to do. Some of it right now/all of the time, and more of it eventually. And all of it really whenever I want if at any time I want to drop any of it that I’m sick of. And that’s the big reminder, that I can do whatever I want. I don’t WANT to stop doing anything I do right now OR I WOULD. I just really crave to do MORE of the millions of things I want to do. Making choices pains me because sometimes choosing to do one thing means choosing NOT to do other things I really really DO want to do (refer to above: socializing).

Sorry if that is all incoherent and vague. It makes sense to me, though. FYI: comments reassuring me about my weight or arguing about it will not be published; it’s not the real issue here: the real issue is what I want to concentrate on more than my body. Love to chat about it more, but again, this is more of a reflective post for myself than an informative or conversational post for others; once I post this I want to be dumped of it and move on.

*****

I don’t know if I can describe how satisfying it is to look at these photos we’ve shot, the ones that are beautiful. Since it’s difficult to describe without being redundant or obnoxious, you wind up reading more angst about dumb things like body image than daily thanksgiving about important things like how splendid I feel about what we make. I feel wrong even taking that much credit for just being lucky enough to have a camera, a moderately good eye and an appreciation for the beauty of certain things that never get old no matter how many times you duplicate them: black nylons against a blonde wood floor. Red patent leather. My girlfriend’s ass. Her willingness to get on the floor for me. The way the pictures I capture can keep getting better regardless of how fat I eventually may get or whether or not I can bear children or whether or not I ever lose a breast to cancer. I will still always know and deeply appreciate a billion and one things that are beautiful and exquisite and erotic and are not too hard for me to point out and celebrate. That I WANT to point out and celebrate.

During my shows today I got the usual questions I get when I’m wearing a tampon and haven’t bothered to cut the string. Namely, “what she got hangin out of her pussy?” I feel it’s my moral obligation to continue flaunting my string time if only to educate these sheltered ignoramuses.

After my last orgasm I returned my focus to the chatroom only to read a new question, one I’d never fielded before:

“Why is your pussy so flat?”

Ummmmmm . . . flat? Well, here is what he was looking at:

I had to ask him what he meant. FLAT? He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. And maybe it does look relatively flat, especially without any hair on it (a recent change). Regardless, I couldn’t tell you WHY mine is that way. It just IS. I was born with a (now) stylishly cute vulva that could almost be mistaken for fake if not for the vulgar coloring, pimples, and hair (when I have it, which is almost always). And as I’ve gotten older it’s gotten more of a pinched pie dough look, but it still has its flat days, I guess. I should start marketing myself that way. STEP RIGHT UP AND SEE TRIXIE’S FLAT PUSSY! Actually, my pussy is not as flat as it looks, though. It’s just the quality of the webcam show action and lighting that fucks up the dimensions.

Speaking of the hair removal, I still got a handful of “compliments” on my supposedly still-hairy pussy, even though the actual vulva is now shaved. Seriously? That pussy looks hairy? Color me confused. That is like confusing a mustache with a beard. No, it’s like confusing SIDEBURNS with a beard.

Man, this is EXACTLY one of the big reasons I hate that I finally bought health insurance: it doesn’t cover MY doctor, the one I love. The one who just sent a newsletter entitled, “Love Your Colon: Honor Your Anus”.

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.

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!!!

STAGE NAMES & TIDBITS

Yesterday I accidentally spoke my legal name (first AND last) aloud over our spycams when I forgot to turn the audio off before making a phone call. Fittingly, the phone call was to our cable company in hopes of fattening our internet pipe so that we can broadcast MORE spycams, faster (so people can overhear even more of the goings-on in our house).

FYI: though I’m not super-uptight about a few voyeurs knowing my legal names, it’s not an invitation for people who know me as Trixie to address me as anything other than Trixie (or “Trix” OR even “stupid ugly cunthole” – even that would be preferable to people puncturing my webwhore bubble by assuming a level of familiarity I’ve not expressly solicited). There are actually quite a few members, past and present, who know my “real” name, and they’ve done a great job of earning my trust by respecting that Trixie is my chosen name for my webwhore-related interactions.

Having said that, there *have* been a couple of times where people used my birth name online to put me in an uncomfortable place trying to show me that they knew something they weren’t supposed to. It was like they wanted me to know I couldn’t get away with “fooling” them. Also, there have been people who are hell-bent on knowing my “real” name, repeatedly trying to drag it out of me; anyone who seems to think he NEEDS to know my birth name is someone I don’t want to have that information. For one thing, “Trixie” is just as real a name to me as the one my parents gave me because I gave mySELF this name. I really detest anyone who acts like the name I gave myself is inherently fake or phony. Plus, someone who doggedly refuses to acknowledge the importance of having a stage name just for privacy’s sake in this industry is someone I don’t want to deal with — they are the people who give whores good reason to protect their identities and keep them separate from their family lives.

Someone trying to convince me to tell him my real name once tried to appeal to my sense of fairness by saying, “but if I join your site, then you’ll know *MY* name and personal information so I should know yours, too!” Wow — and by his logic, when he joins my site and gets to see and hear inside MY HOME, it would only be fair for me to see and hear inside HIS home. Using his rationale I would apparently be justified in using the name and address associated with his credit card to go to his house and spy on him and his family and maybe google his name to find out where he works since, after all, he gets to spy on ME while I am working, right?

Of course not. That way of thinking is ALL WRONG. Anyway, the product I sell isn’t “fairness” — it’s FANTASY. Sure, I pride myself on offering a more authentic and less fictionalized version of the porn fantasy, but I don’t enter into a reciprocal relationship with my customers. It’s not like, “you show me your credit card, I’ll show you mine.” No, it’s an exchange and I set the terms. If private information like my birth name were to be for sale, I would SELL it as such. For like, five million dollars since it would pretty much be a one-time deal because anyone who thinks that information is too juicy for me to deserve to keep it under wraps would probably post it all over the internet anyway and I wouldn’t be able to sell that information again. And because I would want to make the point that YES, I DO think my private information is worth more than yours, and if you’re hell bent on stalking me to get more out of me than I offer professionally, you owe me the kind of money that will afford bodyguards, a nice home security system and a really lovely arsenal.

It’s not that I don’t understand being curious and it’s not that I think that kind of curiosity is pathologically dangerous — it’s not the curiosity that bothers me, it’s the disrespect shown in trying to SATISFY that curiosity. In the example of the guy who thought that since I could look up his real name in my system that he should get to know mine, it’s like he was trying to take me down a peg by getting me to say something like, “gosh, you’re right! What, do I think I’m *better* than you? No, I’m just an untrustworthy whore trying to exploit you with my fake identity and shouldn’t be trusted with your personal information without handing over an even more literal pound of flesh than the ones on display in my members-area. Who do I think I am, using my fraudulent porn persona to extract your personal information? Before you waste twenty dollars to see my life’s work since 2002 I need to make sure we’re even-Steven and I’ve been properly subjugated by your superior will.” These guys with their sense of entitlement scare me, but not enough that I won’t confirm their worst nightmare: YES, I NOT ONLY *THINK* I AM BETTER THAN YOU, I *KNOW* THAT I AM BETTER THAN YOU. How do I know? By your horribly ill-mannered invasiveness, that’s how I know. Oh, and I ALSO KNOW THAT THE VAST MAJORITY OF MY CUSTOMERS ARE BETTER THAN YOU, TOO, BECAUSE THEY DON’T PESTER ME IN THIS SOCIALLY RETARDED MANNER AND EVEN IF THEY DO KNOW SOME OF MY “SECRETS” THEY DON’T TRY TO RUB MY NOSE IN IT.

T I D B I T S

*Good news: Nico (our dog) doesn’t have a tumor; she had weed seeds that burrowed into her skin and became infected and swollen. Apparently this is a fairly common thing that happens to outside-dogs in the summer. The vet extracted the little buggers and prescribed some antibiotics, so all is well!

*Good news: I recently lost a few pounds. Bad news: I think I lost them off of my boobs. I guess that’s what happens when you go off the pill.

*We bought a new printer last week and I still haven’t had a chance to figure out where to put it or even just unpack it and smell it’s new-machine smell. It’s a photo printer, so maybe now we’ll be able to sell 8×10’s (there seems to be a niche demand for autographed 8×10’s of webwhores, fyi).