TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘fantasies’ Category

While packing up and moving, I rediscovered a lot of jolly useless crap that I’ve hoarded, including these fortunes I saved for some reason:

Rediscovered fortune-cookie fortunes

Guess which one I like best (if I were to choose one to be my REAL fortune or that I actually believe in)?

Definitely not “you will have many friends when you need them”. That one gives me an anxiety attack – total fortune cookie curse. I thought they stopped making those kinds!

I like “you are the center of every group’s attention” marginally better, but again, it sounds like a curse pointing out a strong character defect. It might as well say, “you are an obnoxious narcissist and/or a buffoon.” Like, everywhere you go YOU WILL MAKE AN ASS OF YOURSELF!! Have you ever considered being seen and not heard? Okay, how about if you just take a shower next time because you smell like a stale cookie baked in a butt oven. Decorating your face with your own smegma isn’t as cool as you think it is. And for Christ’s sake, put your tits away and stop talking like a fourth grader impersonating an Asian comedian.

I do not belong to any group, I am simply an object of every group’s derision. There is “every group”, and there is me. I don’t think I have low self-esteem, I truly think that’s all implied by the wording of the fortune.

“Put the data you have uncovered to beneficial use” resonates with me. STRONGLY. Like a whisper of truth from the great computer in the sky, urging me along to fulfill my virtual destiny on the gameboard of “life”. I can feel proud of being chosen to uncover data and succeeding in dusting off this wisdom — these necessary components of information –  and look forward to more being revealed as I take the Next Logical Steps in applying all of it. My future is certain, but I do not know what it is . . . yet. But everything will most certainly fall into place and I will either end world hunger or win a lifetime supply of personal awesome, which I may build in the form of a vault filled with cakesters, lost Patricia Highsmith novels (imagined and written by moi, of course), benzos, and the interchangeable body parts of my robot sex drone*, “Vector” (affectionately named after my favorite affordable fountain pen by Parker, which I will have cached by the thousand).

Despite the allure of that fortune, I’m fated to accept “you have remarkable power which you are not using” as the true script written exactly for me. I could look at it as the forty-year-old’s new age version of all of my report cards stating over and over again that I fail to work up to my full potential, like the punch in the gut every time a family member on Intervention tells the addict, “you could be so much more . . . will you please take this precious opportunity today to be the Person You Are Meant to Be?” I would be like, “why do you think I take drugs in the first place?? Too! Much! PRESSURE!!”

But I don’t know . . . there really is something magical about that little slip of paper saying it like a promise from the universe instead of a disappointed father to his teacher-turned-whore daughter. So even though I threw away the fortunes, I’m going to try to use that one as an affirmation, and every time I say “I have remarkable power which I am not using” I’m going to feel a mountain of sparkling gold coin growing under my feet, strong and heavy, feeling like a reserve of money in the bank that I may withdraw at any time. I snap my fingers then open them a quarter of an inch, and coin flies up in between them! I snap my fingers on my other hand and open them again and a cakester appears in my fist! I tap my tall shiny boot on my platform of tinkling, clanging gold and a platinum-furred gopher appears in my arms!

Then I start the engine on my golden mountain of reserved power and fly across the world as though on a fertilizing-lawnmower hovercraft, gilding everything with my perverse tinkling laughter, and everyone has to put on masks like when Mount St. Helens blew or run inside lest they pollute their lungs with my infectious 14 carat gold ash. Then me and my platinum gopher land at the top of an extremely soft and unbelievably tall grassy hill that we roll all the way down until we land — laughing gold even harder than before — on a pillowtop mattress that floats off into a shimmering blue lake filled with lily pads holding bowls of mashed potatoes and gravy.

*is it redundant or actually just plain inaccurate to call something both a robot and a drone?

I just put some condoms in the cabin (now also the new WebWhore Headquarters).

I’m enjoying contemplating/wondering/thinking about who might end up wearing them.

Three contenders . . . enough to go around.

All morning I’ve been thinking about fucking nineteen year old boys. Not any specific one, just a regular lineup of lithe little hard-muscled confused-yet-focused horny boys with motor hips and little curved dicks that don’t stop.

It’s because last night I ran across a video of Carol Cox with just the title of “Fucking a 19 Year Old”. I’m well aware of Carol Cox and that she fucks lots of people on her site and has lots of videos out there, but in my head it’s not something I crave to watch. Only by random surfing would I click and watch that, which is what makes it so out-of-the-blue to get so “inspired” by the awesomeness of it, just her smiling while this kid grunts his hips into her. No music, just those flesh-slapping fuck-sounds. No bullshit overproduction . . . it made it very voyeuristic, especially because I can imagine her husband Danny standing there behind the camera watching this kid who is decades younger than he is, fucking his wife.

We watched A Single Man the other night which had many beautiful young men in it and more than once I said out loud, Oh my god . . . I can’t even imagine being AROUND guys that age again. The chatter! The idealism! The way they think all these things they think and feel are NEW and mature and WOW!!

But somehow just watching Carol lying there having a torso of teen muscles pumping into her it made me realize it IS possible to have the cock without all of the talk. And I’m not a big old meanie, I probably would find a few of them charming in other ways, too.

Maybe all of the effort of lining such things up and getting hotel rooms and kids flaking out would be worth it — after all, it WOULD be a lot easier to shoot than us trying to shoot ourselves, which makes things more technical than we’d like them to be AND uses up both of our “talents” for only one piece of content. It really would make more sense for us to be regularly fucking other people for our sites.

I know, I keep saying it but keep hesitating. I don’t like all of the planning and rigmarole and relying-on-other-people involved in endeavors like that, especially living in an out-of-the-way place as we do; it’s really expensive and time consuming to get together with people away from home (and there’s no way we’re inviting strangers to our house to fuck us). Plus I am pretty sure (but not 100%) that Carol Cox and her husband actually do pay the guys featured in her videos – it’s a lot more professional than the way it’s presented in the fantasyland of the porn site (and I mean that in a GOOD way). We honestly can’t afford to pay other people for sex. OR waste time picking them up in bars (plus I hate bars, anyway).

But then I think how nice it would be to make something hot to look at just by lying there and enjoying some hormone-crazed fuck-machine of a teenager. Making him pull out and shoot big loads of spunk all over my tits. Thinking about this gives me very pleasant feelings.

Of course, I’d like to make them “audition” with a slightly-humiliating interview and videotaped jerk-off session first. I want to ask them questions and hear their voices shake while their impatient pricks twitch in their pants.

I look forward to the time when we have a stable of reliable boys (and/or GROWN men) like this to shoot with whenever we want to. I’m just not sure when, if ever, we’ll invest the time in finding and grooming them. Are you wondering why I’m more focused on shooting with men than women? Or why I’m emphasizing younger men as opposed to more age-appropriate lays? If so leave comments and maybe I’ll blog about it. Or just answer in the comments.

*****

God, I want someone to choke me. The RIGHT way. While I’m on top. Very few people have the touch or the right arm-length or understanding of how to not do it scary. It’s the pressure applied UP that I like to lean down into. I love the way it adds a tense time limit and everything slows down. Next time I find one who can do it I’m going to make him wear gloves, making it too difficult to get my pussy as far down on it as I suddenly want it to be. Because I’m held away. Just the tip.

*****

Delia has a hot semi-local who MIGHT shoot with her, but just the length of time of email back-and-forths and the guy’s lack of certainty about being on tape makes me think again that maybe it’s not worth the effort and bullshit. Of course I understand people’s reservations about being in porn, I just don’t have time to waste with their uncertainty or enough money to motivate them to treat it as more than just a fantasy they want to hot chat about late at night with no intention of following through. Oh wait, I asked Delia about that guy and apparently he’s actually ready to go, Delia’s just been waiting for the right time to schedule something. That’s exciting, right?

*****

Now I officially have two personal ads semi-written but not posted anywhere.

9/3/2010 Cabin Day #1: 0 (zero) words

Loading stuff up in the van to take to the cabin I worried that the neighbors would think I was moving out and leaving Delia. Maybe that worry was just a projection of my own discomfort over making time alone/away a priority. Because there aren’t good models affirming pursuing time alone away from home unless it’s to do regular work that regular people do in the midst of whole bunches of other regular people. People who desire as much time alone as I do are widely regarded as unhealthy freaks or suspected of having other motives besides a simple need for solitude. Whatever the reason, I wanted to keep running back inside to hug Delia and get reassurance that whatever I‘m doing it‘s not what it might look like to the neighbors.

*****

At the cabin the wind blew and I wondered how come the skinny tall trees here don’t fall down. I amazed myself by not being annoyed that there’s a daycare with kid sounds a block away. I felt the sun on the back of my neck. I gazed at the crescent moon with breakfast around noon. I scratched up my arm and the back of my thigh on blackberry bush thorns. I figured out where I can stand and lie in the cabin with the blinds open without being seen by the girl in the big house or the people next door. I made a note to buy a couple of curtains to further hide myself when desired in those couple of places where I can be seen. I caught up on all of the pooping I didn’t get done while we were away from home for three nights.

I started to stop thinking about how to get down the ladder from the loft  (how do I mount it under the slant of roof? Do I turn around and climb it back down or just walk straight forward like I’m going down stairs?). I lit a candle. Then I blew it out when we left to get gas, but only $15 worth because we’re almost out of money until Tuesday so we didn’t reset the mileage on the odometer because our fuel gauge is broken/stuck on full.

*****

Things didn’t go exactly as planned, meaning I didn’t have time to plan to make things perfectly prepared.

Want to read more about Day One at The Cabin? I’m hiding the minute details after a break so as not to bore or overwhelm folks who don’t want to read about my zero word count day:

Read the rest of this entry »

Have you noticed us getting up earlier and going to sleep sooner on our cams? That’s (partly) because starting September 3rd I’m going to get up early to head over to the cabin we’re (good news!) officially renting to do off-cam no-internet work sans distractions. Normally I quickly grow disgusted with a morning-person routine, but now it seems totally different knowing there’s a purpose to it.

It rained heavily on Thursday. If I hadn’t gotten up at seven in the morning, excited about the possibilities of such early rising once the cabin time begins, I’d have never known there was any blue sky to be had that day. I’d have missed seeing this moon:

Blessing Bestowed from the West

There’s a place – a real live place – where women artists can apply for residencies. Actually, there are lots of places like that, where those kinds of people can get free lodging in inspiring locations to focus on their work, but the one I’m thinking of is SUPER DREAMY . . . fucking storybook-land perfection in terms of its tiny private artfully-crafted houses (each resident has one all to herself) and woodland setting.

Most shockingly dreamy of all is the way the women are catered to; the small handful of residents (women, all of them!) have a chef who prepares crazily wonderful dinners for them every night. There are pictures proving how thoroughly stocked the kitchen is with racks of zillions of containers of spices and rows of carefully labeled provisions and specialized pots and pans used to make what appears to be an ABUNDANCE of food every night just for these six or seven women. Meats and comforts and fresh green things and berries and sauces and fanciness and desserts and lots of colors and textures on big plates and side dishes.

On top of all that, the chef ALSO prepares individual baskets for each resident full of her favorite foods to help sustain her throughout the day while she works in her perfect little house. And there’s a garden full of plants someone else tends that each resident gets to pluck and cut flowers and leafy things from. FOR INSPIRATION AND SHIT!

I know that being there wouldn’t be actual utopia, but it does provide a model to ooh and aah over. I think it’s awesome that a very teeny-tiny percentage (wish it were more) of talented women in the world get to experience opportunities like that, to be told that their own self-directed art is so valuable as to warrant a few days . . . maybe even a whole month(!) . . . of concentrating on nothing BUT the work she most wants to do and that she will be sheltered and reliably fed to delicious excess if she likes so she can take care of her work while someone else takes care of her basic needs with sensual generosity.

Same time as picture above, but looking 80 degrees to the south.

What an exquisite fantasy! But it seems so decadent, like I know that I personally could never warrant such treatment. It’s a nice daydream but it actually makes me nervous to think about having such a giant privilege bestowed upon me. I’m nervous enough about the idea of renting this cabin, feeling like I need to prove that I “deserve” it. That I’m worth blowing more money on when I already have so much.

And then I remember that my grandma made my grandpa dinner every night to his specifications. Dished it up and brought it out to him. It wasn’t fancy, but she SERVED him. And every day she fixed him a box lunch even on the days when he was only working in his garage out back, a one minute shuffle away from the back door. I know times have changed, but when I was growing up I never fucking once saw a man prepare and serve a grown woman food. NEVER ONCE outside of restaurants (which I rarely saw) and pancake breakfasts at the Masonic Lodge where it was a wonderful novelty to see the men with aprons on, coming out to the long tables to pour coffee and bring us our hotcakes.

It wasn’t just my family that was like that. Most people my age and older grew up seeing men (and children) waited on at home and women NOT.  I suppose gender-blind egalitarianism is the ideal I should desire (and I do in some ways) but part of me needs to experience the balance of intimate privilege tipped dramatically towards women to undo what I learned by watching. I wasn’t brought up to BE that kind of woman who waits on men — not at all; I wasn’t taught with words to do it  — but that’s what all the women in my family DID to one extent or another and the men DID NOT. You have to be crazy to think that kind of learning is something you can just erase with your intellect when you grow up or even along the way with words of “you-go-girl” encouragement.

Looks promising upwards and eastwards

Even though I never grew up wanting to be a woman who takes care of a man, once I outgrew the entitlement of childhood I came to FEEL that having someone take care of me wasn’t something I deserved or could expect the way a man in my grandparents’ and parents’ generations could and that the only way to live my life just-so, to my specifications, was to live alone. I didn’t think this on a conscious level, but I think the past ten years (and then some) of webwhoring have involved more conscious efforts to recognize and reconcile this conflict; I want to work — to do MY work and do it MY WAY — and have someone else take care of the housekeeping and cooking. For my work to be the most important thing I do and everything else to be relegated to the distraction pile which I should be able to demand someone else pick up and put away. To believe that my work is so important that I should be angry and frustrated when I do not have the tools or environment to do it properly. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT MEN OLDER THAN I AM GREW UP EXPECTING AND DOING. And so what if their work wasn’t important or they would bankrupt the family with their business schemes? You didn’t fucking criticize the work, jobs or dreams of men. You just didn’t unless you wanted to be the evil villainous bitch in the story.

I shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have as many places to do my work alone as my grandpa did: a garage, a basement, a toolshed, a closet where he kept his Black Velvet and other private treasures, and a windowless office he hardly went into that nobody else was allowed into that was always at least 15 degrees cooler than the rest of the house. My grandma didn’t have any place in her house that was her own like that, just like my mom didn’t have a special place in our tiny house for herself like my stepdad had a whole room for his model train. And if Grandma fucked up some shit in the kitchen Grandpa would go ballistic on her ass. So I guess maybe I SHOULD feel guilty about wanting all that man-privilege since being an abusive asshole came with the territory. I don’t know. But on Friday morning I’m going to work alone in the cabin AND I CAN HARDLY WAIT!!

Also? I’ve drafted a new personal ad for a slavey-houseboy type. Not putting it up for awhile though as that’s a whole time-consuming process in itself. I also keep wanting to blog more about how going to college totally distorted my idea of money and assessing the worth of an investment in myself, perhaps making me approach financial risk-taking in a more “manly” way than I would have otherwise.

More morning moon pics to come?

*****

So. I don’t anticipate members and fans seeing a noticeable change in focus on our sites because of this and will probably see more exciting stuff on cam rather than less since we have to cam more to pay for everything. One of the good things (in terms of “earning” my cabin keep) is it’s already making me more disciplined and focused in how I prioritize things, clarifying what needs to come first (which is really REALLY challenging when you have boatloads of everything to do and have an easily-overwhelmed mind like mine). Right now at the top of the list is simply getting ahead on shooting and getting updates lined up, so that’s what I’m going to get back to work on right now.

I often fantasize about having a windowless closet with a narrow cozy built-in bunk to sleep and daydream on. Where nobody can see me, cut off and curtained-in by dark, heavy layers of hanging clothes. Or of being in a fantasy sleeper-car on a train on a comfortably narrow berth, dark wood paneling all around with chugging train sounds and gentle rocking. Or of being in an even-smaller, quieter version of this cabin, this time with a built-in little bed. No electricity, no webcams. Or of having my bookwormhole.

Sometimes I close my eyes in bed and time-travel back to the best drugless, not-sick sleep I ever had. I went on a women’s retreat with a bunch of gals I really didn’t know. Upon arrival I half-assedly engaged in the crafts they’d set out, then went to the cabin. There were a handful of these cabins on the lake, a BIG lake with no motorized boats allowed. QUIET. The other women complained about the cabins – the uncomfortable bunks something they were only tolerating for the coolness of the Retreat. In the middle of the day while the cabins were completely deserted I climbed onto my little wooden shelf, nestled down into Delia’s perfectly awesome sleeping bag, faced the wall, and fell asleep for hours. Undisturbed, unseen, far removed, not missed. I absented myself from everywhere else except my private cocoon.

I got up for a late dinner, and that night slept again in a completely heavy, renewing, needy, guiltless way. Even with the women sharing the cabin with me, I felt alone with my earplugs in and my lack of intimacy with them. There was a woman on the shelf above me, two shelves holding a woman-each perpendicular to my head, and two shelves parallel to me across a tiny open space. I was the first person to go to bed, and the last one to wake up. I liked having the shelves of women around me, being in a small hibernating hive, quietly together without any of them knowing me. Not talking.

I was reading Strangers on a Train that trip. I accidentally left it at the lodge so I never finished it, but it was good to have it when I did. A sugar daddy sent it to me off my wishlist so I feel a little guilty over losing it, but my possession of the memories of that trip are so clear the book is still one of my treasures even though I don’t have it anymore.

*****

The opportunity to rent a small cabin/shed space came up this week, synchronous to a handful of needs/desires/opportunities converging on me/us. It’s the kind of thing I would never seek out because I don’t think I deserve it, but under the circumstances and upon careful thought and discussion we both recognize we’re way overdue for what it will offer. It is just THE THING. It’s not in a remote location — in fact it’s on very shared space minutes away — but because we’ve been there and know the person really well who’s renting it I’m familiar with the setting, comfortable with the people who might be around, and aware of the benefits of its location. I haven’t actually been inside this cabin on the property, but I’m going to check it out soon.

Yes, I’m worried about how we’re going to afford it, but the with the house and the cabin/shed we’ll be paying the same amount we were paying for rent on individual houses before we moved into this place with its cheaper rent. I’m pretty sure it will be worth the relatively small investment in terms of providing space and opportunity for more creative content creation for our porn sites, too.

It’s not a done deal but if it works out I will be healthier with a space to be solitary and invisible, to write without obligation or interruption (I know, we don’t have kids and we work at home, but there are SO MANY INTERRUPTIONS mostly named THE INTERNET and webcams and too much space with all of it messy with cables and overwhelming work things everywhere), to sleep with complete cozy abandon, and most excitingly for our fans this might give us the kind of space and convenience we need to have more sexual adventures with other people. I will have someplace to go if Delia wants someone over for fooling around, and vice versa (though I mainly anticipate fooling around with mySELF, dreams, and pages and pages of watery blue words). We’ll have a convenient place to go away together, away from work. Because working at home with 24/7 voyeur cams on you means never getting a break unless you leave, and when we leave work I want to relax, not wander around a mall or drive hours to see a movie, or blow money to sit on uncomfortable chairs in a restaurant, or wander around in the woods being scared of cougars wondering how we’ll get home when our car breaks down (I still need to blog about that).

I’m also really excited about sharing the dreaminess of a little place like that and the things I do in it. But not having to share it WHILE I’m there.

I’m grateful to a number of people and strangely-timed messages for helping me decide to seize this opportunity. Two of those people are Heather and Libby, so thanks for the inspirations.

I contemplate which award is a bigger honor. If you were trying to impress people at a party, which award would you rather have bragging rights to?

A more detailed comparison of my girlfriend Delia & her website and chopped pressed meats, along with a fantasy of taking a woman-sized formed pâté to my class reunion. I discuss fillers, green business, added hormones and more.

*****

We have company for a few days, our dear friends Kris and BeerCanMan, but there is work being done, too. Or at least TALK of work being done. Well, I am officially doing work now actually, not that this is the work you WANT me to be doing (and I’m sure you’re with me and would rather I hadn’t devoted hours to bills and money-juggling today) and some of the work is very behind-the-scenes promotional stuff but anyway. More later!

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.

Yesterday during my webcam show I decided to use one of my small(er) dildos, the Tantus Sport in conjunction with my Hitachi Magic Wand. I figured I’d start out with it for show then work up to something bigger for visual effect and for orgasmic efficacy, but instead I was reminded how sometimes smaller is actually BETTER.

Naturally nude, sitting on the Tantus Sport dildo.

With a smaller penetrator I was able to move it RAPIDLY in and out without pain. Not something I always want (rapid movement, that is), but yesterday — I did. And the range of motion is wider, too; I can move it in an arc – like 3/4 of a circle or maybe a hook/switchback? — jammed upwards an inch or two inside me than stroking out and even sliding it up over my peehole then back down/around/in. While I did that I imagined I was a very uptight guy getting my cock sucked, super shocked & excited by the idea that a girl’s tongue was on the place on where my pee comes out. I got really excited whenever her mouth got specific with that area.

I had two absolutely ecstatic orgasms that way today during my show. A couple of minutes after the loud finale I heard a weird tinkling noise that wasn’t part of the music I had playing. I turned off the song to isolate the sound and discovered it was one of my music boxes. It started playing all by itself. I guess in response to my orgasm? I don’t know, but it was pretty magical and trippy.

One thing I’ve noticed about my body: the more time I’ve spent directly stimulating my clit and relying solely upon it for my orgasm, the more it gets burned out and sick of it; it gets more difficult to climax rather than easier. Totally not so with my g-spot. The more action it gets, the more it wants and the better it feels. When I’ve been fucked with something big I don’t really get to take advantage of that because I usually wind up sore and the rest of my pussy can’t handle more, but with smaller cocks and toys that’s not a problem.

NOTE: I AM STILL USING A VIBRATOR TO STIMULATE MY CLIT/NOT *JUST* MASTURBATING MY G-SPOT.

ANOTHER NOTE: I HAVE HAD SEX WITH A NUMBER OF MEN WITH PENISES NOTICEABLY SMALLER THAN THE TANTUS SPORT AND WITH MOST OF THEM IT WAS STILL *GREAT*. In fact, I’ve probably had more easy orgasms per session with the smallest penis I ever “had”. So there. I’m not stating a preference here since I do love handling, sucking and looking at large cocks and average ones are great too (and my idea of the *perfect* cock is Delia’s), I’m just saying that when it comes to actually using them to get off, the little ones work really really well. Unless, of course, they’re attached to idiot titnards I don’t like, but sometimes even then they have a good practical application.