TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘confessions’ Category

Delia knows exactly what kind of thoughtful presents to give me; she brought home the most awesome present for me:

Nevermind what’s inside . . . the box is super cool!

Look at the shiny, iridescent beetle necklace my girlfriend got me!!

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.

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:

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).

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.

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?).

*****

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.

Emailing back and forth with a webwhore/stripper/blogger extraordinaire, I found out she was under the impression that I am a Very Successful Camgirl, or as she put it,

I got a newsletter saying you made a gazillion dollars doing webcam.

This was totally news to me since I’ve never broken the million dollar mark, let alone the gazillion dollar mark. Or course, she wasn’t *directly* quoting from this mysterious newsletter, but now I am very sad to have to burst her bubble by saying that I’ve never been a Very Successful Camgirl. I momentarily did okay with it back in the days when it was much easier and knew I could give up working a regular job and support myself camming (and maintain my exorbitant studio-apartment lifestyle of top-ramen-eating), but I was never ever a top earner, unless it was a week here or a week there on very small independent camsites (NEVER on a big site like iFriends) with very little competition and it only took a small amount to get there. I never logged the kind of hours it would have taken to be rich or started early enough to get on the first wave-of-webcams before all the camsites started giving streams away for free.

I’m not saying I was an UNsuccessful camgirl, I was just never on the “Top Performing Hosts” page at iFriends the way some girls were, a few of them my friends, who actually were in the top ten earners some weeks. IF I remember correctly (and I might not), one of the girls said that amount was around $12,000 one week to be number one. I could be totally wrong, though – I didn’t write it down, that’s just a figure that sticks out in my head (and it was MANY YEARS AGO; I doubt *anyone* could come close to that figure in a week these days). And the number fluctuated every week depending on (obviously) how business was going and how many hours the top webwhores were logging in. Girls didn’t just SIT on the top ten, either — it’s not like they logged in and were guaranteed to make a couple thousand dollars in eight hours of looking pretty. Most of them could work their asses off nonstop for seven days every so often, on TOP of being Very Attractive and extremely personable worker bees with lots of regulars.

Of course, there were always conspiracy theories about how some girls would wind up on the top ten making lots of money. The main one, which was probably true (I never paid attention enough to know for sure or feel like it would change anything if I had this “proof”), is that the camsite would figure out who their golden girls would be and put their feeds on a special server where most of their traffic was delivered. The rest of us wouldn’t get as much exposure, and by virtue of that fact, women we all thought were totally fucking wretched camgirls (but blonde) would rake it in.

One of the girls targeted by this conspiracy theory was Venus Sex Goddess (I don’t actually remember EXACTLY what her screen name was, but it was something like that). Blonde and unbelievably boring, or so we believed:

Many catty, struggling camgirls would try to figure out her secret by visiting her chatroom and there was Nothing Going ON there, so they reasoned that her success was a combination of 1) server placement favoritism, 2) her high per-minute prices, and 3) the allure of her blonde, unsmiling, snobbiness. Camgirl spies reported she booted people out of her chatroom for not entering paid chat within 15 seconds or for asking simple questions/trying to make small talk. Some girls PAID to view her, to try to ascertain her recipe for success, and came out of it mystified because she did nothing, apparently. No hardcore, not even any nudity — just sat there unresponsive and unsmiling. Seriously. THE WOMAN DID NOT SMILE! Maybe the girls didn’t spend enough time spying on her, I don’t know, but they posted stories that became legendary of Venus Sex Goddess’ complete lack of, well, sexiness, customer service, or anything worth paying for (in our expert, not-making-money opinions), yet for a camgirl era lasting for MONTHS or maybe even, like, a YEAR or some other inconceivable stretch of short-attention-span time, she repeatedly held the number one spot for earnings.

Anyway, I am no Venus Sex Goddess. Never was, never will be.

It’s been YEARS since I looked up the top-earners page — wasn’t even sure if they still had it — but I *just* checked as research for this post, and guess what? I AM LISTED AS A TOP CHATHOST! Yes, I am currently occupying the tenth position in the much-ignored category of “Marketing” which has absolutely nothing to do with making money on cam, it’s making money as a webmaster *promoting* the camsite.

I know how much money I made last week doing that and it is a really paltry sum, yet only nine chathosts managed to make more sales than I did. NINE. The really sad part is that making money promoting the site is about a gazillion times easier than making money fucking yourself on cam. And when I use the word “gazillion” in this context, it is NOT an exaggeration. I probably could have spent eight hours logged in as a camgirl and not made as much money as I did for some work I did three years ago that continues to pay off today. “Webmasters” who have penises and have never spent a day in their lives having a fucking clue what camgirls do would piss themselves laughing at the measly amount of money I made last week. The moral of the story? No matter how much money Venus Sex Goddess ever made in her whole fucking life as a camgirl, it will never hold a flickering CANDLE to the amount of money the top webmaster/promoters of camsites have made. I could write a book about the inequity of it, but the truth is that it’s kind of our own damned faults.

I don’t know what it is in our makeup, but when I look at that top ten chart, I suffer from that flaw that defies logic because while I *do* feel a surge of competitiveness, I don’t immediately think, “oooh! It would be so easy for me to be #1 in the marketing category!” No. I wonder longingly if *I* could ever hold a position among today’s Venus Sex Goddesses. If I just put my mind to it! Even if I never get on the “magic” server! What would it FEEL like to be so golden? It beats the hell out of me how that desire to earn a small amount of money as a whore continues to be more appealing than earning a large amount of money as a no-name nerd, but that seems to be the way most women operate.

Anyway, I have no idea where this newsletter originated claiming I was “the highest earning camgirl ever or something like that.” And it said I “made a big number that year or that month.” Maybe a case of mistaken identity? I don’t know, but now I kind of feel like the man behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz has been revealed. I’ve always related to that dude even though I’d never intentionally deceive someone, at least not without issuing a disclaimer first informing people that what they’re about to experience is pure fantasy. It’s thrilling to imagine my colleagues admiring my earning potential and to think of the name “TastyTrixie” being written in the annals of camgirl fame, but alas, I do not deserve a place there.

God I am having fucking camgirl withdrawals right now. But I simply can’t allow myself to sacrifice the BETTER money I make as a webmaster to the now-extremely-crappy and unreliable amount of money one MIGHT make camming. Not right now, anyway. Isn’t it fucking crazy that part of why I want to pay off our debts and make better money is so I can *afford* to be a camgirl again?

I couldn’t resist looking at the beautiful man-body chopping wood next door so I did something I think (I thought?) is really, REALLY wrong: I took sneaky pictures of him without his knowledge or consent. And now I’m doing something even MORE wrong: I’m posting one of them here:

He’s not our neighbor, he just delivers and chops wood for our neighbor. And I HAVE to watch him do it, because the guy is incredibly beautiful. Not his face, just his whole old-fashioned working-man’s body with that wedge-hourglass shape. The thick pants with the shiny metal details, the gloves, the white tank top, the cap, the scraggly mullet and those pale muscles built up in the shade and from working outside when it’s raining, because it rains all the time where he works. He’s like an 80’s version of the guys in old propaganda posters like these:

I have always been in love with watching men do physical labor. Even though I felt sort of dreadful about it, I was compelled to run and get the camera. I stood in the kitchen and snapped a few pictures where he could have turned around and seen me. But before that happened, I ran into the bedroom and took pictures of him through the crack between two panels in our shoji screen so he couldn’t catch me watching him through the magnifying lens of our camera. My desire to capture his image forever outweighed the voice in my head reminding me I was doing something wrong. Something I’ve seen/heard of other people (men) doing that sickened me, but that memory didn’t stop me from doing it myself.

You shouldn’t spend time on fetish-oriented forums online if non-consensual voyeuristic photography (and other stuff) bothers you. You’ll find out things that you just don’t want to know and see things you weren’t meant to see. Like pictures of used maxi pads guys steal out of public restrooms or photos a foot fetishist surreptitiously took of his neighbor’s niece’s bare feet while their family unwittingly enjoyed a barbecue in their driveway. The woman was probably in her twenties and the guy who took and shared the pictures described his sneaky method for capturing them and the type of camera and settings he used and how he managed to not get caught.

The freaky part is the way these people usually don’t even acknowledge the line they’re crossing, or worse, act like they’re ENTITLED to snagging these things that belong to other people. Of course, half the time someone with common sense will challenge these people or point out the err of their ways, but most people don’t bother to post any opposition, instead just showing their appreciation for what the voyeur-thief has “created”/salvaged for the members of the board. Or they will critique the spoils, like the guy who complained that the neighbor chick with the bare feet was so fat, how in the world could the spy-photographer possibly think anyone would be interested in seeing her or be aroused by her himself? So not only is this woman with the arched foot and a BBQ rib in her mouth being displayed on the internet without her knowledge or consent, she’s ALSO having her weight criticized. AWESOME, right?

I pretend that I’m not quite as bad as these sociopaths because I know what I’m doing is wrong. But I guess that actually makes me worse because I know it’s wrong and I’m doing it anyway (and those guys on the forums might know it’s wrong too, they just don’t waste time making a big show of acting guilty about it the way I am in all of my gross hypocrisy).

I can pretend I’m conducting an experiment or research. That I’m a writer. That the end result of provoking thought about these important issues of privacy, consent, and all SORTS of interesting things is worth the negligible or nonexistent “damage” I’m doing. And after all, it’s a really REALLY grey area, right? I mean, how many people would even think me taking and posting the picture of the axe man is wrong if I didn’t tell you that *I* think it’s (maybe) wrong? And this isn’t really a blog entry about that guy, it’s about me or the collective us and the image is actually a snapshot of me — the voyeur — and my thoughts, not him. It’s entirely possible to intellectualize it that way. He could be anybody. You can’t see his face. No one will ever know who he is. Probably not, anyway.

And would he care if people DID know? Maybe he’d WANT to be credited and known far and wide as The Woodsman Who Got Trixie Hot. Of course, that brings me back to the obvious trespass of not asking for his permission to photograph him in the first place, but speaking of consequences, *I* certainly don’t want to pay them. I don’t want *him* to know he was chopping wood next to TASTYTRIXIE and therefore knows about our websites and where I live and can tell everyone how to find me (I’d have to tell him about our sites in order for him to give INFORMED consent, though that disclosure would be out of ethical, not legal obligation; you don’t have to specify where or when something will published on a consent form, just that you as the photographer have all rights to the photos which legally you don’t REALLY need to do anyway since in our country the photographer automatically owns the photos, not the model). I don’t want to tell a big strong stranger with an axe and a cock that he gives me a boner and I want to take pictures of him — LOTS of pictures. Well, I do sort of want to tell him that, but I know it’s not such a good idea/could cause problems. He might be weird or scary or even if he isn’t, then our neighbor (a decent neighbor, not our scary neighbor) would know about us and that would make everyone on the block uncomfortable. Most of all us.

If it were my actual neighbor out there making me hot chopping wood, I wouldn’t have taken the pictures. Because that would be violating the good neighbor code of pretending each other doesn’t exist. And I certainly wouldn’t take pictures of his young daughter! Even if it were to record how she trespasses on OUR property, walking just three feet past me sitting in our window. Well, maybe I would (for proof of trespass only!), but I wouldn’t post them on the internet. But maybe only because I’m a pornographer and could get in trouble for it just by virtue of that fact.

When I pondered these things aloud to Delia, she doubted my assertion that if it were a woman out there, hanging laundry or washing a car, I totally wouldn’t have taken the pictures. She’s probably right. After all, I took this picture (without her knowledge/consent) of a hot redhead fishing because she had a really great ass:

It’s the kind of picture you can get away with taking in public and even sell prints of in local galleries that don’t have any artistic standards. It’s the kind of picture no one (except other wankers) would bat an eye at as long as you keep up the appearance of it being completely innocent. Even though I know that I took it purely out of sexual/sensual interest. And I know that any straight man with a camera would have taken it for exactly the same reason (or to prove to himself that he wasn’t) whether he would admit it or not, and there are tens of thousands of men with cameras with hobbies or professions doing exactly that. I know a lot of people who take completely g-rated innocent-loo
king pictures and jack off to them later even if they didn’t intend to when they snapped them.

Part of me feels justified in posting this because there are so many writers and artists and reporters and network television stations getting away with doing so much worse with absolutely no compunction. It’s only people like me who openly call ourselves pornographers who are recognized for exploiting and objectifying others even though we play be much stricter rules and are faced with much harsher penalties for violating them than any other industry would be. But that train of thought is just another diversion from asking myself how *I* would feel if my neighbor were peeping through a crack in the blinds taking pictures of ME doing yardwork or thinking he’s not home when I sunbathe naked on our deck when actually he’s hidden behind a tree and rubbing his crotch against its bark. Of course, I’d feel totally different about it if I had a teenage son or daughter being spied on. But the guy chopping wood is clearly an adult. And he wasn’t sunbathing naked. And again, I don’t think I’d care if my neighbor secretly stood in his kitchen taking pictures of me as I walk around OUR kitchen at night topless (which I do sometimes with the blinds open, not because I’m an exhibitionist but because I just don’t care) as long as he didn’t hang them in the post office with our address printed on them or something.

Meh. Now that I think about it, I really don’t care. As long as someone stays on their own property (not sneaking onto mine or a stranger actually stalking into the neighborhood to spy on us or putting on an obscene display of masturbating and shooting cum into our yard) and is only taking pictures of what I do outside or with the windows open then who cares. It’s kind of fucked up, but not a huge deal. It’s not like I’m lying in wait every day, conducting surveillance on everything that our neighbors and their visitors do.

After completely overthinking this, I absolve myself from guilt. It’s harmless and legal. But I guess if I give myself permission to be an opportunistic voyeur-perv-photographer that means I have to stop being shocked and offended by other people who do the same thing. I’m reluctant to do that.

Here’s a couple with a sleeping bag and no picnic basket that I shot entirely because I knew they were setting out to lie down together and *do things*:

If I hadn’t admitted that and had posted the picture somewhere else, like on a stock photo site using woman-approved keywords like “young love” and “spring romance” (and cropped out our cracked windshield & wipers giving away that I’m like a dirty old man doing a drive-by) it would probably be perceived in a totally different way. It would just be a bad snapshot. But because of who I am and what my site is and my confession that I’m a voyeuristic pervert who sees sexual potential everywhere, it seems more DIRTY and exploitative than it really is. What if a local television station were doing one of those weather “stories” about how people were still going to the beach even though it’s overcast, and those two lovebirds were in the background? Would the station be committing an evil deed? If not, why does it seem so evil when I do it and admit that I see erotic potential? And why would it seem so much grosser and more evil if I were a man instead of a woman?

Bah.

Speaking of double standards and being a horny woman, check out this post by Goddess Glory where she describes her friend getting mad at her for drooling over a waitress’s ass at dinner:

“. . . my mind was completely focused on fantasizing bout our waitress’ beautifully ginormous ass sitting on my face, cutting off my air supply.”

After taking swimming lessons as a kid, I haven’t spent much time in pools, but I want to get in the water more often so I dusted off my old rubber swim cap (barely used), bought a new one (the purple one below) and replaced the old broken rubber strap on my goggles. I tried everything on during one of my webcam chats last week and was extremely pleased with the results:

I can’t tell you how much I love wearing my swim caps — it has all the pleasure of a corset without the hassle and expense. A corset for your BRAINS! They’re snappy, squeaky, thick and delicious and wearing them reminds me how glamorous I thought women were who wore do-rags and turbans when I was very young. LOVE! I am INCHES away from shaving off my hair and wearing swim caps full time (and paired with earplugs it would be delicious deprivation of auditory perception). Except without the hair I don’t know if it would be as pleasurable to remove the swim cap after thirty minutes or more of wear; there would be less hair-pulling, but too much cold to enjoy the slow expansion of the head and hair-floof back to maximum size.

And don’t even get me started on goggles . . . this is my LOOK! I think it’s totally cool when there’s a reflection on just one lens.

*****

Swimming was fun, but I went alone and was actually nervous about doing something new: would they have lockers and if so, would they provide locks and keys and something to hold onto the key while I’m swimming? Would I have to pay for each scheduled event I stayed for or only the first thing I showed up for? Would I be horribly slow and block faster, fitter people from enjoying their laps?

I managed to go despite these nagging anxieties and enjoyed myself, even if I can’t seem to swim in a straight line and kept kicking the wall during my sidestroke and wound up with a scraped foot. I love being immersed in the water. I love the colors and sounds of an indoor pool. I love everything being muffled and wet and full of vapor. I love floating and turning and being thick and mobile.

I felt calm and heavy afterwards. It’s good stuff. In fact, I went back for more and posted a confession/fantasy today for members that I had about myself and the nerdy lifeguard.

On my walk to the bank I found a pair of dirty panties laying on the street by the elementary school in the crosswalk.

They weren’t dirty in a way that indicated a struggle took place while someone was wearing them, just dirty in a way that any discarded fabric would be if it spent time laying in the road. They were pink Hanes Her Way, definitely grown-up panties. A twig was ensnared in them and they were bunched up.

I walked past them quickly in a kind of shock, knowing I wouldn’t want anyone to catch me looking at them, but wanting to just the same. I left them behind, wishing I’d had my camera. I left them behind, but couldn’t stop considering picking them up and putting them in my backpack. I could use the twig to pick them up without touching them, or at least I could say that’s what I did so people wouldn’t know that it doesn’t really freak me out to pick up dead panties out of the street with my bare hands. I could bring them home and justify my strange behavior because I’m a pornographer and some people would like to see these panties I found. Because some of the people who read me online are exactly the people who WOULD have found a way to snatch those panties off the street, or would be jealous of my wild and crazy ability to defy convention and do so.

I’m always fascinated by the private things that are abandoned in public places. Grocery lists, for example. But it’s especially strange and fascinatingly intimate when underwear is discarded. Socks in parking lots. Panties used as toilet paper and dropped in conspicuous store locations. Shoes thrown over telephone wires. Panties on the street. I’m drawn to these things and wonder how they got there, just like I wonder why half the bad boys and girls on COPS are driving and wandering around the streets barefoot (not wearing shoes on the street is a much more significant sign to me that these people’s lives are totally fucked up than the drugs in their cars or their desire to run from the police). Are they leaving their clothes behind to mark their territory? Is it like movable pheromone-filled graffiti? Are they trying to fuck with me/people like me? Or are they just getting rid of things they don’t want anymore?

*****

On the way back home I thought about the place where I left the panties behind and whether or not they’d still be there. They were, and this time I actually stopped and peered down at them. There was blood on them. Not crime scene blood, but natural period-type spots. Did she buy new clean panties? Did she just decide to go without? Did she wonder what people would think when they saw them right there in the crosswalk? Was she laughing when she threw them? Was she alone? Did she get rid of them because she was proud to show them off rather than wash them after they’d already served their purpose? Or did she get rid of them because they disgusted her and she just wanted to leave them behind?

Or maybe someone’s son or younger brother stole them out of the laundry and brought them to the playground to show to all of his friends and they all laughed and threw them around after passing them to each other with grubby fingers wondering what it all meant. Or maybe someone sat in his car by the school late at night and jacked off into them, then threw them out. If he would have been caught he could have to register as a sex offender for committing that act within so many feet of a school. Even though it’s summer and school’s not in session. What was he thinking, throwing them out right there? What is anybody thinking?

Maybe they were just on the top of someone’s laundry basket in the car with the windows down and just flew out on accident.

*****

The panties will be gone the next time I go by there, and I’ll wonder who took them. A concerned mother picking them up with a plastic bag between her hand and the cotton like she’s picking up dog poop? The guy I’ve seen at the playground with a metal detector, scavenging for treasure? The same person who put them there? A lonely teenager in a trench coat taking a midnight stroll? I wish I could watch them do it without anyone seeing me.

*****

There’s a mystery just north of us of severed feet washing up on shore (see story: Retracing the Steps of the Severed Feet). I don’t know why, but I just happened to think of it.

One of them turned out to be a hoax.

*****

Here are a few more blog entries I posted recently:

What Failure Looks Like: Exhibit A

What Failure Looks Like: Exhibit B (in lieu of pics of the street panties)

Two alternative ways of purchasing membership to my site:
microphone = six month membership
laptop = lifetime membership

Attending our county convention yesterday as an Obama delegate counted as my social event for 2008; so what if I only struck up conversations with three people? That’s more action than this hermit usually sees.

Because socializing both bores and overwhelms me, I love getting my social time doing things with an agenda where there are rules guiding behavior and people in charge of reinforcing those rules. Parliamentary procedure definitely fills that need, and the lady I complained about here did an awesome job of keeping people in line, pushing them closer to the microphones, speaking coherently and just being generally awesome. She only used one acronym demanding clarification from an audience member which she explained without apology; you’ve no idea how much I admire that in a woman. While the acronym thing bugs me, I love her unapologetic down-to-business attitude.

It was both a relief and a disappointment discovering that the next caucus happens at the same time we’ll be attending the transgender conference where we’re on a panel so I couldn’t even try to get elected to move on; you wouldn’t believe how many people couldn’t grasp the concept of a thirty second speech, couldn’t keep their name tags swiveled around so people could see their names, and didn’t even understand why the timekeeper was waving her arms at them after they’d been droning on in a disorganized fashion for upwards of 90 seconds!

Anyway, it was fun being surrounded by liberal people getting a charge out of showing off their familiarity with Robert’s Rules of Order. I loved every minute of it, including the annoying parts/people. The Kucinich fanatics even made wonderful hyper-idealistic points and invited us to join in their futile, counterproductive bid to send as many “undecided” delegates on as possible. It was inspiring, it really was; in addition to preferring structured social events, I also like people-time that has an inspirational and/or change-making purpose, so I loved being in a crowd of people who are all excited about the positive changes our next president can bring and empowered to be part of that.

I wound up bonding with a lady who of course asked me what I do for a living. As usual, I first responded with the deliberately vague “webmaster”. With her lovely shining smile she probed deeper, asking, “so what does that mean exactly?”

I liked her and felt like she was a relaxed person, so I told her; “I make porn sites.”

Her smile stayed on, bright white and wide and her eyebrows perked up naughtily while she asked me to repeat myself. I laughed and teased her, “you heard me: PORN!”

She loved it, responded with fascinating disclosures about herself, and thanked me for making her day.

Yesterday during one of my chat & masturbation webcam shows, a viewer asked me if I prefer a large or a small audience. I tried to be diplomatic about it, partly because I myself am uncomfortable with the true answer, so I said that there are pros and cons of each (which *is* true, but is not the answer).

The truth is that I prefer big audiences over small ones for group camshows. I either want to do a private show for just ONE person who pays me by the minute OR I want to do a group show for as many people as possible. Even though smaller crowds are almost always more polite, there is still a bigger thrill associated with having lots and lots and lots of people watching me at once.

I know this answer probably sounds contradictory given some of the complaints I have made about doing shows for big groups along with the enjoyment I’ve told you I experience doing shows for smaller crowds; I’m not invalidating anything I’ve said before — those complaints and acknowledgments still stand. But I’ve *also* told you how I love the feeling of immortality provided by having my life/living enlarged by being watched:

Through my porn sites I have attained a degree of immortality. It sounds crazy, but it’s true and it fascinates me. So much of the work I do amplifies and extends my living; I do feel like I’m more alive because so many people KNOW that I’m living, WATCH me living, READ me living, etc. It’s heady, powerful stuff that overfeeds my most basic, primitive survival instincts. Maybe my own instincts have gone off the rails or I’m unwittingly describing the hallmarks of some kind of pathology, but whatever. Some people cheat death through extreme sports to feel more alive, some people have kids, some people perform acts of heroism . . . but I feel more alive simply because a few bloggy book people (along with thousands of men who’ve become erect and spilled seed over my web-graven images) know who I am.

I know it sounds more like cancer of the ego than immortality, but regardless of whether its source is mental illness or the actual attainment of mythological proportions, I *feel* superhuman because of all the people watching me going about life in my bubble.

This feeling isn’t something I experience on a conscious level, it’s primal (which is funny since it happens because of technology). I’m pretty sure it’s the same feeling that drove Evil Men throughout History to invade and conquer neighboring and distant nations and peoples: to have legions of men lined up and standing erect before you, assimilated and saluting you, compelled to stand mutely before you and powerless to leave unless you expel them. It is heady stuff, and you feel it most when you have either *one* person ensnared OR impressively large numbers of them.

This morning when we fucked we were being watched by people on three different spycam networks. I like that. I cannot tell exactly how many people were watching and I wasn’t interacting with any of those people, but I *did* like logging into one of those networks afterwards to find that 84 people were still watching there even after we had been done for ten minutes. I liked seeing that we had more viewers than any other houses. The numbers are small compared to the glory days back when I started exhibiting spycams, but still . . . fucking is even better somehow when there is a number attached to it of anonymous people who witnessed it. The bigger the number, the better it is (as long as those people had to pay an entrance fee of some sort to see it, otherwise it loses its charm).

The same is true of the group shows that do have interaction; I confess it excites me more to see 500-1500 people watching than it does 50. It’s nothing personal; on the contrary — it’s something very IMpersonal. There’s safety in numbers, even though there are always more assholes in big audiences and they have said some terrifyingly offensive shit to me; I feel less of an obligation to each individual person because I think of them more as a *mass* of people. I don’t feel as awkward or self-conscious because there’s a lot of static washing over me in the chatroom. There are also more people to play off of and time passes quickly; even though I find much of what is said is repetitive and obnoxious, it’s just more entertaining than having a few people being really nice to me. And? There’s a massive thrill in NOT doing what A LOT of people WANT me to do. Most of those people come to shows not to chat or to see a striptease, but for immediate graphic sexual stimulation. I spend about 40 minutes chatting and not being sexually graphic. And then when I am masturbating? It’s, ummm, actually pretty boring to watch, I think. I do it virtually the same way in the same position every show without variation except in toys and occasionally asshole versus pussy. I’m not saying my shows are BAD — I think they’re relaxing, funny, genuine, and sexy — but there are other women putting on much more wank-worthy shows: the kinds most people are *expecting* to see. When I don’t give them that and it angers them, I feel flooded with power. I love telling them that if they want to tell me how to masturbate they’ll have to get a private show where they pay me by the minute. If they are good guys, they’ll ask how they can make that happen (and then I thrill at the opportunity to deny them, since I rarely ever do private shows anymore). THE MORE PEOPLE I DENY (or whose expectations I defy), THE MORE I’M THRILLED.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t love it when people love my shows and express their appreciation or that I don’t love civilized conversation — I *do*, it’s just that there is a special thrill that comes with making hundreds of men horny and mad and unable to make me do what they want; I think this might be the only almost-safe platform for deliberately sexually provoking men/”leading them on” where saying no won’t lead to a physical assault or gang rape, and it is BECAUSE I know that what some of those guys are feeling and saying is precisely what many men (maybe even some of the same ones) have said and felt that led them to hurt women in real life that I feel thrilled; maybe a part of me feels that I’m standing at a unique point in history on a unique technological platform that allows me to magically elude the violent attacks I would suffer were I to say the things I say (and do the things I do) in any other place and time; it’s probably the closest I can come to defying death. Oh, and of course there’s also a thrill that comes with hearing a lot of guys tell me they’ve jerked themselves into a creamy frenzy during my shows. It’s the idea of hundreds (preferably thousands) of CRAZED MEN going apeshit bonkers that gets me so psychologically worked up.

Oh, I know those of you who attend my shows are remembering all the times I’ve dismissed the question I’m asked every show of, “how does it make you feel that 457 (or however many people are present in the chatroom) men are jerking off to you?” but the only reason I act disinterested is because it’s technically inaccurate since I know that not *everyone* watching is male and not everyone is watching the show with one hand on their genitals. My problem with the question is mostly the way that it’s worded along with the hope they have that I’ll say something about how WET it makes me; it’s not that I do not get aroused by these thoughts, however I don’t have time or enough stimulation during my shows (especially at the beginning of them, which is usually when someone asks that question) to really fantasize about that. No, the natural excitement I feel regarding those numbers is POWER.

The times I’ve gotten aroused by viewers in group shows have been when guys say something kinky about themselves like the unusual way they’re masturbating (Oh Trixie, I’m just about to cum in my roommate’s shoe watching you!) or confessing something like my best friend
Brad and I have been jack-off buddies since we were 12; I’m imagining he’s here now & we’re watching you together, beating off! or just a number of simple status report like Oh, Trixie! I had to stop stroking my pole and pinch it because I almost came at the sight of your hairy butthole! or even just good old, Unnhhhhhhhjuscameonmykeyboard!. Unfortunately I get way too few of these kinds of remarks during my shows to really rely on viewer input for arousal and the other stuff I *do* hear regularly is often funny, but rarely a turn-on: Do you want my cum? Tell me you want my cum!! Doesn’t work from a random stranger in a crowded room; in a private show or phone sex? That has potential. Will you marry me? I’ll get you pregnant! The ultimate turn-off. Shuttup Bitch! I didn’t come here to listen to you talk philosophy! While I enjoy this for the element of power, it doesn’t arouse me sexually. I know this sounds sick, but it’s an incredible feeling, knowing there are men SEETHING with hatred and contempt for me but they CAN’T make me shut up. Part of me enjoys hearing all of the predictable ugly insults (fat, ugly, old, stupid, etc.), because I know it is a very VERY special thing to sit here and be safe even when faced with confirmation that women are still loathed and victimized in very scary, gender-specific ways.

If asked what size audience DOES sexually arouse me most, I’d refer you back to private shows: ONE viewer arouses me most, one that I’m interacting with who is paying me by the minute to talk to me, tell me what to do and/or to expose himself to me. Private shows and phone sex are extremely sexually exciting to me (because they’re hot, not because I feel like I’m flirting with danger). You want to know a big reason why I don’t do them much anymore? Because they aren’t as private as they used to be when I started camming and doing phone sex. It used to be just me and one other person: the viewer. Now my circumstances and the camsites have changed so much that I have way too many audiences to really get off on it the way I used to; there are people watching me on our spycams, the cam networks have sneak peeks running and archives being captured, I feel self-conscious with Delia in the house, etc. It’s too much exposure for something that used to be hot because it was SO private. That’s actually a subject for another blog entry I’ve been meaning to write for a long time, but I bring it up to illustrate how many different factors there are and yardsticks for measuring what kinds of shows I like doing best and how many people I like watching them (which is why the diplomatic answer IS TRUE; there are pluses and minuses to all of the different kinds of camming I do).

A few people who’ve had phone sex with me or chatted with me extensively are probably aware how much the numbers mean to me on many different levels; it *is* a big turn on to contemplate the numbers and the gallons, the spurts and the jerks of a large population. But the most instant reaction I have to the numbers DURING my shows is a surge of omnipotence more than arousal. The more people watching, the more power I have (and the more I feel I’m cheating death, I suppose).