There’s this thing that happens when you’re waiting for your STD test results: even when you’re sure everything’s okay, even when you were not at all worried when you went in for the tests, even when you’re just doing it to be “on the safe side” or solely as the responsible step before fluid-bonding with a partner (you’re not so much seeking results for yourself, but getting Official Documentation kind of like going to the courthouse for a marriage license or notarized copies of divorce papers) or to be able to shoot for someone or to make your mom feel better — even then a lot of us get really nervous as the hours pass until YOU JUST FUCKING WANT TO KNOW ALREADY.
I’ve been through this before when I knew on a rational level that I had absolutely nothing to worry about. And STILL, anxiety would grow in me. And getting the results would be such a shocking relief. Is it worse for people our age who grew up when AIDS was a bigger mystery and a sure death sentence? Maybe. This time I do NOT know I have absolutely nothing to worry about. There are definitely a few things I’m worried about today, actually.
I think that I haven’t been worried about this — that I haven’t been intentionally putting off testing because I’m scared or that I’ve honestly tried but it’s all so complicated and expensive to get ALL of the tests I want and the hours are so weird at the free place — but those are probably just a few of a billion lies I tell myself without consciously putting them into words.
So it’s the waiting time right now and I’m super glad that porn people are figuring out that we should be tested for Hepatitis.
I’m learning (all these years into it) that I’m not like most of our smart responsible friends. That I DO WANT LOADS OF HOT CUM. That even though I’ve had lots of sex with condoms, I’ve had lots of sex without them, too. And I can’t help it — the truth is I like it better that way. It is significantly hotter enough that I will sometimes make bad choices because I fucking love it. In part because it is a bad choice, but also because I can feel the difference. Especially when it makes a difference to them. Even though I cringe when I watch bareback porn and worry about those dry pussies and assholes, I don’t think I’ve ever masturbated to orgasm watching scenes with condoms; I’ll grant them high scores intellectually (“it’s SO great to see porn being produced safely!”), but I personally don’t get off on it (though I could certainly train myself to), in part because generic vaginal and anal sex scenes aren’t my go-to porn for personal gratification in general unless some really kinky role play is going on.
It may be truly mortifying that I prefer unprotected sex.
One of the kindest, most forgiving, most loving, most important, most reassuring and angelic things anybody has said to me in the past decade was after I emotionally pressured my sister into letting us bring our crazy third partner to her family’s house for Christmas that year. Afterwards I confessed how I didn’t really trust him and had pretty rational reasons to be worried about HIV and Hepatitis. My sister (who is an RN and cannot handle working full time with COPD patients after taking care of our dad who died that way), said “I will take care of you if you get sick, Trixie.” And she meant it, and I cried because I totally don’t deserve that (and nobody who loves me deserves to be put through that). But we are human, and sometimes we can’t get over it and it’s totally unfair. Human means there are people like me. Human means there are people like my sister and my wife.
While I was writing this post our results came through. CLEARED! NEGATIVE OR NON-REACTIVE ON ALL EIGHT SCREENS for both of us! Yay!!!!
Delia is now singing a song that she made up called “Thirty Days in Your Hole”.
I have a million and a half reasons to be excited about waking up in the morning.
Apparently that’s almost a million and a half reasons TOO MANY to be excited about waking up in the morning.
I seem to be having a pretty typical, fairly-privileged midlife crisis on top of all of the cooooooooooool mental health problems that make me myself. Today that made me act like a fucking asshole crybaby and feel like self-inducing a coma.
What I need is to only care about maybe THREE great reasons to be excited to wake up in the morning. I am too greedy and attached to it all and first-borny and conflicted and insecure to narrow it down to a meaningful and manageable number, though.
Someday I will accept that the way I’m trying to do it is fucking impossible, totally stupid, fundamentally counterproductive, grossly unhealthy, completely unnecessary, and interfering with my own happiness.
I have a nudie pic or ten thousand to post, but instead am thinking I should write this small book:
My Enormous Credit Card Debt: Privilege, Birthright, MANDATE
To be followed by the sequel called:
My Eating Problem: Privilege, Birthright, MANDATE
Punctuated by the this little missive:
My Drug Problem: Privilege, Birthright, MANDATE
with the encore:
My Beautiful Wife, My Enabler (or “Get Me Another Pop-Tart, Will You Hun . . . and Another Slice of Your Delicious Quiche While You’re At It Before You Go Upstairs to Sell Your Precious Cum Online So We Can Pay Our Rent and the IRS and Credit Card Bills and Have Enough Left Over For My Pop Tarts and Drugs?”)
The worst part is I’m not sure if I’m exaggerating or just being painfully honest.
I know. My problem is that I’m just too fucking lucky.
Our awesome friend Sabrina ponders something we all wonder:
If I were smart I’d just delete this and start over.
Bug necklace dangling near Trixie's ample cleavage
Delia knows exactly what kind of thoughtful presents to give me; she brought home the most awesome present for me:
Scorpion gift box
Nevermind what’s inside . . . the box is super cool!
Opening my little bug box
Look at the shiny, iridescent beetle necklace my girlfriend got me!!
A symbol of true love!
There is a special reason why this pendant made Delia think of me; once upon a time I was a beetle breeder.
In elementary school I was always interested but totally lost and intimidated when teachers sprang special projects on us like building rockets, making volcanoes or constructing cameras out of milk cartons. It’s like I was always absent on the days that the secret instructions were handed out telling us to bring money for those brown motors or maybe it was always the OTHER class that got to do those things. I think the mealworm project studying beetle life cycles was one of those things the OTHER class got to do that I was totally jealous of.
So I did the mealworm project at home. Purely for fun.
My mom would never let me have a pet snake so I guess bugs were the next best thing. Not that I was ever totally unafraid of spiders and such, and I *hated* moths, but I was also fascinated by insects and all the little dark nooks and crannies and tunnels they could explore.
I consulted with my friend Ruth (she was in the OTHER class) to determine what supplies I needed: jars with airholes, oatmeal, apple chunks. I captured my own beetles from the base of our old apple tree in the backyard. It grossed my out a little, the way they skittered around so quickly, but I viewed overcoming this fear as a healthy challenge and soon grew to enjoy the tiny tickles of their little black legs scurrying up my arm.
I thought my ability to unflinchingly let bugs crawl on me was an enviable trait to cultivate that would impress people, like when nobody else in my class wanted to hold and stroke a small, velvety black slug during a field trip to the zoo. I don’t remember why the fuck this zookeeper was teaching us about slugs, but I do remember feeling that I’d found a niche where I could jump straight to the top. So what if I failed at rockets and wanted to cry on field day? I could save face by being an imperturbable slug and bug handler! Plus I kind of liked making girls scream and giggle.
In no time I was observing beetle life in all of its stages. The alien-looking pupae were the most disturbingly mesmerizing. I had to increase my containers to hold all of my grubs, pupae and mature beetles. I didn’t have enough covered jars so I just used different bowls from our kitchen and loosely covered them with plastic. Pretty soon the bedroom I shared with my sister started to smell like dusty oatmeal and decomposing apples, but in my role as omnipotent overlord of the beetles I could watch the beetles’ frenzied mating. They were exposed and vulnerable, driven by instinct to procreate in the open on beds of Quaker Oats.
They were also developing genetic defects because of inbreeding. This was a lesson the limited research of the OTHER class never got around to learning! I tried introducing new beetles to the population, but the rate of abnormalities increased. Soon there were albino beetles, pupae with black lesions, slow-moving beetles that failed to thrive and aggressive, kamikaze beetles hell-bent on escaping the bowls of oatmeal.
One day I looked at the bowls full of beetles spread all over my desk so close to our beds and was suddenly horrified by them. I could learn no more from them and they were on the verge of mutiny.
I had to get rid of them FAST before they overran the bowls and poured out in black waves (dotted with albino white) all over our bedroom. I pushed open a window and started flinging beetles and oatmeal outside. I couldn’t dump them quickly enough . . . they were trying to climb back up the wall outside to get in and seek revenge! I kept throwing bowl after bowl of beetles in various stages of life out of the window, shrieking when they clung to the bowl and started climbing up my arm. I cruelly flicked them off with my fingernails, trying to launch them as far away from the window as possible.
It would have been perfect if I could’ve graduated to snakes or lizards because then I could have fed my beetles to them instead of wasting them all like that. Once, when I was a little older, my mom got mad at me when I screamed after reaching into a bag of potatoes in our dark pantry and pulling out a few maggots on a damp spud. I wish I’d have had the presence of mind to point out her hypocrisy, having the balls to chastise me for reacting to a handful of maggots on our food when she had a snake phobia precluding me from having the best pet of all: a beautiful legless reptile to hang around my neck while reading.
Busty buglover still wants a snake!!
Believe it or not, this is not my only story about bug-keeping. I’ll try to tell you about my other bug endeavors one of these days. . .
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.
Once upon a time in the eighties I read a story in Cosmo about a woman who got stuck on a plane sitting next to a guy who whipped out a porn magazine in flight, putting her in a Very Uncomfortable Position.
There was a pretty good piece in The Washington Post about the same thing happening with porn on mobile devices (stupid WP makes you have a login to read, sorry). Normally most coverage of publicly-consumed porn is really biased and weird, but they did an okay job of it: TECHNOLOGY INCREASES CHANCES TO SEE PORN IN PUBLIC.
Listen. I will defend every adult’s right to buy porn, to make porn, and to think whatever taboo sexual thoughts they want, but when you shove it into someone else’s face, you’re sexually assaulting them. You are forcing them to engage in a sexual encounter with you and your fucking porn without their consent. Is it to the same degree as actually jacking off on them on a plane or frottaging(sp?) them on a train or taking your own dick out and shaking it at them? Of course not (and I totally understand FANTASIZING about doing all of those things or FANTASIZING about those things happening to you), but I personally would press charges against someone who did that next to me. It’s unacceptable.
Of course, I say these things having been resentful at times when I wanted to pull up a NSFW blog or my own site when we’ve been on the road and in internet cafes and had to limit myself or do a lot of alt+tabbing, but that’s a far cry from the guy in the story who started watching hardcore, audible porn with not only the woman right next to him, but HER KIDS, too. The thought of it honestly makes my blood boil and my imagination to immediately go to a place in my head where I’m kicking this man’s teeth in and beating him about the head with his fucking laptop.
The shocking part to me is how many people (let’s face it, mostly MEN) think they’re entitled to publicly entertain their dicks wherever and whenever they want. How can you POSSIBLY think that’s okay? AND WHY ARE THEY GETTING AWAY WITH IT? Frankly I think we’re all obligated to publicly humiliate (to an extent that goes beyond what some of them are probably after in the first place) and legally dog these idiots.
Is there a grey area where I’d be more forgiving? Yeah. I know sometimes when you’re rowdy with another person at dinner or something you might flash some pictures on your cell phone at your buddy and someone might see it from a distance, but when your bubble is touching a stranger’s bubble either physically or audibly, you just do NOT insert sex into said stranger’s bubble. If you’re many seats away from anybody and nobody can HEAR your porn, I think that’s less of a big deal. If you make a valiant effort to hide it when someone approaches, I think that’s okay. And personally I wouldn’t care if someone masturbated next to me on a plane as long as they didn’t expose themselves or touch me or make eye contact with me and they did their best to hide it.
I think that I’ve masturbated under a blanket on a plane just to relax so I don’t know . . . maybe I’m drawing my lines in very subjective ways. I know I’ve had conversations in restaurants that were really graphic, loud, and could easily have made people uncomfortable but I think I’ve never done that with kids around. I hope not, anyway. Plus, I *love* listening to other people have conversations like that. UNLESS it’s guys talking trash about women or anybody calling people names. I have been known to ream people out for that. But it’s still different to talk about a sexual encounter and have people overhear you than start HAVING a sexual encounter with your porn and force people near you to have it with you, whether you intend to or not. And when your loud conversation disparages and insults people it’s kind of the same thing; you’ve drawn total strangers into your bullshit in a hurtful way.
I’ve also been known to have very noisy sex in apartments and not been modest at all about closing curtains when I’m naked or fucking in my own home to the point where I’ve been chastised by property managers and I don’t think people should have to be quiet in the summer when they’re fucking with the windows open to let in cool air at night (god, I love that sound). But I still think that’s different — there are walls, even though they’re penetrable and rendered mostly symbolic, that symbolism is something every civilized person should be able to recognize that establishes distance and literally marks the boundaries of what’s inside and private and what’s out. It’s an entirely different thing, however, if you stand in your window or your yard making eye contact with schoolgirls as you’re masturbating. That is ENGAGING people and forcing them to participate in your scene. NOT OKAY. Same with listening to loud extreme porn where a neighbor or passerby could hear the sounds of people in pain or engaging in kinky roleplays (I wish I could find the link to a story about someone calling the police on his neighbor because it sounded like he was raping/killing a woman when in actuality he was “just” watching violent porn for hours at high volume). On the other hand, I think it’s perfectly allright for people to masturbate in their cars on their lunch breaks or whatever, with or without porn, as long as they’re not standing up through their sunroof and ejaculating on their windshield or making whatever they’re doing and/or watching visible to people close by.
Then of course I have to admit I’ve exposed myself in public places, mostly for pictures but sometimes just for the pure fun of it. Again, I’m worried that I have a double standard even though I’m 99% *convinced* that when I’ve done it it was DIFFERENT . . . safe and wholesome even when sexually suggestive. Somehow I just don’t believe a nude Trixie is threatening or dangerous or harmful, and I especially don’t think anything is “assault” if you are in a park or something but attempting to be discreet and someone stumbles upon you. If you’re lurking in some bushes, though, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to come along so you can expose yourself to them, then THAT is fucked up. I have masturbated in a library, but I didn’t *want* to be caught, so that makes it okay, right? I mean, I would have been mortified if I’d gotten caught! But for some reason I feel perfectly content telling everyone about it, even my friends only an hour after the fact.
So what about the way I have explicit nudity and sometimes sex acts on the front page of some of my sites (like this blog) without a warning page? Is that just as bad? Of course, I still think that’s different. Is it just because it’s ME and what I want to do? I don’t think so. People who don’t want to see porn can block my sites and I have also added metatags to make it easy for my pages to be identified as adult. Also, I’m not SITTING DOWN next to strangers in public places and making them watch and listen to movies of me masturbating and fucking. Anyone who sees me online still has the control to close their browser.
Then again, I’ve taken my top off on a hot day when driving in heavy traffic. I still had my bra on, but I *so* wanted to take it off and felt very irritated that I could get in trouble for that. I still do. I don’t know how anyone could have a problem with rush hour boobs. Or rush hour masturbating. Just don’t LEER at people, you know?
The whole time I’ve been writing this, comparing these different scenarios, I’ve been torn. I want to be honest with myself and challenge myself to think critically about whether or not my boundaries and judgments are consistent, correct and safe BUT I wonder if by doing that publicly, I’m letting everyone off the hook and confusing issues that are actually very clear.
I could mull this over all night, about how it’s different to shove sex in someone’s unwilling face in a confined space versus being off-trail in a state park giving a pal a handjob when someone stumbles upon you and you quickly try to cover up and the other people are easily able to turn around and go the other way. I could sit here and list all of the reasons why it’s BEYOND inconsiderate to make other people watch/listen to porn (and why it’s especially wrong, I’m afraid to admit [and simultaneously uncomfortable with my hesitation to boldly say], when a MAN does this to a WOMAN and/or kids).
Confession: some of the phone sex calls I’ve taken and gotten off to hardest were from guys with this “problem”, or who at least fantasized about acting on those urges. Guys jerking off in their apartments watching the girls walk home from school in short skirts. Guys jacking off in the parking lot and exposing themselves to their coworkers and other ladies just trying to drive away. Guys sitting in internet cafes with hardons. I mean, pretty much all of the stuff I get off to hardest is taboo stuff I’d never want to happen in real life.
So how do I feel (almost) completely comfortable saying that if I caught somebody doing these things in real life I’d kick in their teeth, BUT when someone confesses it to me on the phone I just coyly call them naughty, FEIGN shock and disgust, and furiously masturbate myself to orgasm?
I don’t think I’m (a big) part of the problem, but I know a lot of people would beg to differ.
The Washington Post article kind of blows off this behavior as just “too much information” or “socially inappropriate” or shaped by our mobile device culture making people self-absorbed, inconsiderate shitholes (TRUE), but I still think it’s much more sinister and criminal than that in ways that the men MIGHT not get (or totally DO get and that’s part of the thrill). And fuck if I have the patience to explain it right now. Let me know if you want me to, though, and/or if you have some links to people who already have and/or if you want to take a stab at it yourself.
It boggles my mind how I can peck out this many words and still leave so many dangerous gaps.