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Archive for the ‘fantasies’ Category

I juiced my panties waiting in line to pay for my birth control pills at the drugstore yesterday.

This guy walked through the door, about 20 years old, 6′5″-ish, flannel shirt, jeans. He was alone and awkward, his shoulders hunched. He had that straight-ahead stare and his whole posture was that of a kid who just tried to get from one class to the other in high school without being picked on, or without letting on that he could hear people picking on him. A tall kid adults thought should play basketball but who absolutely couldn’t.

He was pale and slightly Edward Cullen-like without knowing it and when he walked by me I just wanted to fucking JUMP ON HIM. To be transported to the back of a van with the doors open on a dead end gravel road in the woods, smelling him and feeling him and being under him and on top of him FUCKING OUR BRAINS OUT with him grunting and moaning quietly, wordlessly, and looking slightly scared like the whole situation is just out of his hands . . . beyond his control.

I wanted to touch him all over and bury my nose in his armpits while dragging my slimy cunt up and down on his thigh before using it to devour his pecker.

*****

It’s probably important to emphasize the whole “waiting to pay for my birth control” bit: during my week off of the extra estrogen I get MAD with fucklust. But beyond that there’s just the whole excitement of smelling a man and seeing him and immediately knowing exactly what it would feel like to be pressed up hard against him. Being suddenly, spontaneously immersed in a vivid sex fantasy in a public place, surrounded by people while your imagination is completely captured by the presence of one man (or sometimes two men or a whole crew of men who just got off work or left football practice or whatever the fuck).

*****

The other day I mentioned an attractive young man volunteering to be my houseboy/porn stud. And for once having it really sound extremely exciting to me to the point where my mind kept conjuring up the sensation of a tan, wiry 15-years-younger-than-me kid ramming me with his vigorous young boner.

I know, those words are just insanely obnoxious but that’s how insanely horny the thoughts made me, that instead of turning me off all of those tacky concepts thrilled me to the point where my cervix puckered with anxious anticipation. Again, normally the idea of someone banging at my cervix makes me want to vomit, but once these thoughts take hold an enormous gulf separates me from the world of good taste and common sense.

It’s only recently, perhaps in the past year or two, that the thought of fucking barely-legal boys has become a turn-on for me. Not to the extent that it’s displaced being turned-on by guys my age and older – far from it; normally it’s the grizzled dockworkers and loggers and boatbuilders and painters and dirty dirty dirty fully-matured MEN who capture my attention. BUT. As the distance between me and fresh-out-of-high-school grows and the difference between me and them becomes more pronounced I feel more and more turned-on by the idea of having a roster of boys in my little black book to call upon and service me.

Part of it might also be the way people respond to this fantasy online; knowing how many people want to jerk off watching me fucking a fresh-faced, ruddy-cheeked 19 year old with a crazy little prick that never gets soft and is used to shooting buckets of cum every week from his own tugging at home or wherever he can unload is REALLY FUCKING HOT TO ME. Knowing how many people would want to be that boy so bad that it would make their nuts cry makes me want to induce that state of agonizing stiffness.

*****

I know, you’re all “what about girls and Delia and stuff?!?” I am with a girl, I am WITH Delia, and have been to the exclusion of all others for many years so have been denied men (not denied as in not allowed, but denied for all practical purposes, not by the structure of our relationship but just by circumstance and my own unwillingness to pursue outside interests or cultivate new “hobbies”). And so much of our sexual energy and her cum is diverted by her doing shows and solo shoots that there’s not a lot left over for private banging.

I’m not complaining, this is just a status report. I enjoy the way my lust for other people has swollen over the years. It’s not something I want to act on right now, but is something I’m enjoying being tortured by and look forward to indulging in.

Later, though.

*****

I want to show my members and blog readers pictures of random dudes I want to fuck and the guys who catch my eye on the streets. I want to make the people who jerk off to me start jerking off to my fantasies and for their gaze to turn from my pussy to the cocks they want to fill me, for them to be less interested in their own fantasies of fondling my tits and MORE interested in my own fantasies of dragging my boobs over the chests and faces of young fellows who don’t know what the fuck to do with themselves, let alone with me, except to just hump and pump away at whatever they can stick it into or shake it at but for me to make. Them. WAIT. Until they just shoot their loads on their bellies. Hands free. I want people online to be even more obsessed than I am with the possibilities of who I might wind up seducing or seduced by, and for those people online to not even want it to be themselves. For them to want it to be someone else totally removed and entirely part of my meatworld. And all you get to do is watch and YOU JUST CAN’T WAIT.

It makes me fucking CRAZY.

*****

I need to go take my girl hormones now.

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.

I hoped I’d have lots of sex when I went to college, but I totally didn’t except with myself, like in this confession I posted for my members about masturbating in the library:

I tried to get on the study track and stared at the pages of “The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire”, trying to concentrate. I got out my lecture notes and tried to focus on what Redding had emphasized, but all I could think about was how much he turned me on and how naughty I was to spend those hours in his classroom fantasizing about his sexual presence instead of ruminating on his intellectual offerings.

I was alone in the corridor of library desks. Everything was quiet. I kicked off my shoes and put my feet up on the desk then placed my open western civ book in my lap with the base of the book’s spine resting firm and heavy on my pussy. The thin material of my stretch pants made it easy for me to feel this pressure pushing against my clit.

Maybe that’s part of why I’m not turned on by sites like DareDorm – it wasn’t part of my experience. More than that, though, I never wanted THAT kind of drunken sex to be part of my life.

Stupid asshole college jocks.

Those are exactly the kinds of tan, stupid people and scenes I wanted to avoid when I went to a private university and as a woman I have a hard time being comfortable looking at those kinds of scenarios even if they’re staged.  On the other hand, I do understand why OTHER people, particularly guys, enjoy jacking off to that kind of porn — ESPECIALLY nerdy guys like myself (but with penises) who never got invited to parties like that or if they were, were always on the sidelines just watching.

Not that I never EVER got drunk and had sexy-time in college — those instances were few and far between, but they did happen and I’ve shared a few of those stories with members, like in this story where I got kicked out of a bar for getting too hot and heavy with a Fort Lewis soldier and this story of botched alcohol-doused sex in my Nissan Sentra with campus security cruising by and this story about a drug-dealer who loved getting his whole face wet with my pussy juices. Honestly though, those were (almost) the only times I did things like that! All of the tan and sporty partiers at my school lived on LOWER campus, while I belonged to the pale and nerdy upper campus crowd.

Anyway, if you’re not a member and you want to read those stories JOIN HERE -or- if you really just want to immerse yourself in the debauchery of hardcore, porntastic, wannabe-amateur porn then join DAREDORM.

Note: if you join DareDorm or RealityKings today after clicking my links I’ll get a mega-awesome bonus. RealityKings gives you access to a whole bunch of awesome, tried-and-true sites like Big Naturals, Mike’s Apartment, Monster Curves, etc. I’ll also get a bonus if you join on another day, it just won’t be QUITE so luscious. Thanks!

Fantasy list of what I might do if I had a month free with no distractions or obligations, and enough money to do it/them:

• *rent a cheap studio apartment in Portland (OR) and do nothing but live nights, anonymously wandering around listening to live music and frequenting titty bars.
• *make music. Maybe learn the software and stuff to record pornolicious soundtracks using my keyboard (and figure out what extra electronics and stuff I need to make it better). Maybe take drum lessons. Maybe learn to play that harmonica CBM sent me. Maybe go to open mic nights. Maybe sing a lot.
• *go to all kinds of different churches, try out different modes of worship, read and journal/think about spirituality.
• *walk to the library every day, read papers and magazines and books and books and books and books and books and books and books and books.
• *go to every single museum, attraction, or whatever possible in Washington state. Study maps. Drive all over hell.
• *take care of my body every single day in as many different ways possible EXCEPT sexual excess: cooking and eating right, taking long walks, breathing deeply, stretching, dancing, and taking all kinds of classes: tai chi, hooping, belly dance, boxing . . . whatever’s available
• *completely immerse myself in learning about one particular issue or cause, blogging/talking about it, and volunteering my time to it.
• *write for 30 days. Whatever I want. Without showing anybody on a daily basis.
• *watch/”consume” porn, fuck and masturbate a lot and get the review portion of Trixie.com off the ground.
• *do phone sex again, but for many hours a day without trying to do anything else (no worrying about looking cute on cam, no doing camshows, no public blogging, no trying to figure out if the person is a member or not . . . just anonymous phone sex).
• *Do some creative work (maybe just making one or three full length pornos that we could sell on DVD and actually be proud of) that takes a long time without WORRYING about the outcome or whether we’ll have enough money to do it right or having to do any of the other daily/weekly repetitive grind stuff we do that interrupts the flow of things that could take 2 to 30 days.

******

Two things to note: when I fantasize about taking time off it never involves regular socializing. It’s always stuff I want to do in a reclusive fashion, without phone calls or parties or meeting up with people in a chatty way. Also, when I dream about time away, it rarely means time away from work or being productive, it usually just means time away from the way I’m *currently* working so I can try a different kind of work or more focused productivity. I fantasize about having routines and ritualizing work but not to the extent where I lose the freedom to pursue it with the kind of continuity that doesn’t exist when you promise yourself to wake up at a certain time each day. I fantasize about not having to “check in”, about being isolated in a way that doesn’t allow anyone to look over my shoulder or judge my progress. I fantasize about full immersion in an experience devoid of distractions and mundane concerns. I fantasize about thinking and feeling and realizing ideas and absorbing/fondling new ones. I do not fantasize about interacting with people even when realizing my fantasies would necessarily involve SOME interaction. In my fantasies I assume these interactions will be limited, structured, and not come within a mile of overwhelming the real experience which is something I have with myself (and Delia in some of the fantasies, who I think of now as a part of myself, not someone I “socialize” with).

Yeah. Pretty much all of my fantasies about taking time off of work or having more of something good lead right back to fantasizing about doing MORE work, in a different and/or better and/or as-yet-experienced way. On the other hand, my idea of what “work” is, particularly what my job(s) in life are, are extremely broad. I have a certain level of faith that everything I desire to do will ultimately be productive in a life’s-work way.

A few awesome things I’ve done/felt today:

*walked through a quiet art gallery and had time to stroke an inlaid wood table decorated with shiny, randomly-inset little nailheads of different sizes and metals.

*bought some favorite usually-overpriced tomatillo salsa on sale which I’m eating right now. Thick green stews and salsas always feel like delicious magical potions to me.

*enjoyed Delia’s preview of some of the pics I shot of her recently for her Fall Flower Fairy gallery.

*woke up without a headache after having one for five solid days (don’t feel sorry for me; I made some bad choices with food, how I mishandled stress, and delayed getting my B vitamin shots).

*bought myself little foil star stickers. To reward myself for finishing items on my to-do lists. This is not as childish as it may sound, and I really love shiny little stars in red, blue, silver, green and gold.

*had two awesome poops

*am wearing my octopus necklace, handcrafted by a local artisan

*scoped out / walked through a really cool coffee shop. Even though I’m not a coffee shop kind of gal, I love knowing there’s one I might actually enjoy sitting in if I ever decide I want to. The kind where there’s plenty of space between plenty of armchairs and darkness and both good coffee-n-pastry aromas plus dank book smells. The kind where, I hope, no one would talk to me. Of course, that desire for solitude didn’t deter me from fantasizing VIVIDLY about seeing a hairy man I fancy and wordlessly tangling into each other and fucking in one of the fairy-lit corridors there.

*survived and almost enjoyed capturing & editing my masturbation video that I’ll post for members tonight: tidied and put away a multitude of things while each of four files were encoded. Enjoyed afore-mentioned tidying.

*Fondled silky lingerie in a little independent shop downtown.

*Picked out striking, large, dramatic pieces of jewelry I’d buy for Delia if I had money to.

*Looked in two shops for crock pots. Neither place had one.

*Didn’t really waste as much time as  you think doing all of these things because I was alone, undisturbed, and easily able to soak up and get my fill of each stimulating little experience.

The best part is I think we might fuck tonight. IT’S BEEN WAY TOO LONG. I need to write a little something about how much of our lives revolve around cum-rationing. And how someday we’ll fuck hairy men in fairy-lit corridors and never want for extra cum again.

I love casinos.

It’s pretty rare that we go to them (and we have LOTS of nice ones on reservations in Western Washington where the tribes actually make decent money off of them instead of simply being exploited by outside corporations which is what happens in most states) and the amount of money I spend is trifling, but I still love walking around in them and being absorbed by the noises and orderly rows of tables and machines.

A few nights ago I needed to get out of the house so I went with Delia to her 12-step meeting. Meaning I went along for the ride, dropped her off, and headed to the casino by myself. Delia doesn’t like wandering around aimlessly in casinos the way I do so I really got to enjoy spending an hour there with my free Sprite, completely overwhelmed and unsure what to do with myself (but in a good way). Eventually I made a $7 donation to the tribe via penny and nickel slots after I figured out how to get and use their club card.

I allowed myself to be completely unhurried and take as much time as I needed to make and execute the simplest of decisions, like whether or not I should remove my club card from the lanyard so that it wouldn’t be dangling across the screen or tying me up by the neck to the machine. Seriously. I spent ten minutes trying to figure that out and get the card OFF the clip. I am not very bright or coordinated, especially when there’s a lot of distractions around so it’s a huge relief sometimes to be completely alone with nobody (I know) watching and just allow myself to sink into being massively stupid, completely enveloped in the casino atmosphere where you’re allowed to publicly do nothing but throw money away while you sit on a stool and look at little pictures of monkeys and fruit and BARBARBAR spinning around. For hours. I suppose that’s pathetic, but it relaxes me to feel no pressure. To not have to try to be smart. To be hidden between the slot machines that are all taller than I am.

I love casinos enough that I would throw much more money away in them if I could afford to. Enough that I can envision myself having a serious problem, especially if I ever learned to confidently play cards which is one of those perfect-for-Trixie ways of being around other people, in a completely structured semi-social exchange where the object isn’t to chat, but to play and to win. Everybody has a clearly defined role. There are RULES. I like that.

But I don’t have money to throw away so after I (ever so slowly) spent my seven dollars I wandered around looking at the steakhouse menu and the cafe menu and the people and the machines and the gift shop. And while I looked at the two pound steak special it occurred to me that it would be very convenient if someone offered me money for sexual favors. That I would DO IT without hesitating, return to consume my blowjob-earned steak, and spend the rest of it on slots.

On the Golden Girls, Blanche referred to buying things with her body as “using nature’s credit card”. I wonder: what is the percentage of women who 1) want things and 2) immediately scan the room for men who can provide the means for procuring the things that they want. I imagine it’s pretty high. It seems perfectly natural. And of that number, how many would use “nature’s credit card” to seal the deal?

Of course I wouldn’t do that at the casino. Probably not. Unless I did become addicted to gambling.

When the thought first (naturally) crossed my mind it seemed totally logical and if it would’ve only taken 20 seconds for an opportunity to present itself then YES, I would have done it. But after a minute reality set in and I realized I wouldn’t have time to do that before Delia’s meeting was over. I don’t know enough about the casino to know what the risks are. I have no desire to be publicly humiliated there or never allowed to return. I’m not sure what safety precautions to take. And the whole thing would be so much messier and uncomfortable in real life than in my imagination. Plus the guy would probably offer way less money than would be worth it. Plus I really didn’t feel like talking to anybody.

But I didn’t look “hot” so I’d have probably performed, for example, a low-priced handjob with my tits out for groping if I knew it was safe and the guy didn’t want a big long conversation. Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to ever know for sure that something is safe. And I hate the idea of someone following me around, eyeballing me before they make an approach, or worse, following me around afterward when I’m trying to enjoy the money I earned.

It’s much better to be a lone stranger in the casino that the security guys suspect is autistic rather than a prostitute. I didn’t feel like smiling at anybody or talking. I veered away from a chunky black guy earlier (before my whore light bulb dinged outside the steakhouse) who seemed to be pursuing me; in hindsight he might have been a perfect mark for that handjob exchange. But at the time I just wanted to sit alone on a stool at a slot machine without being hemmed in by people on both sides.

At the printing company where I used to work there was an autistic guy working in the art department. He scanned logos and cleaned up the artwork. I briefly worked there too on the night shift. Sometimes our boss would look at me working, obsessively sharpening the edges of black, shaving off pixels that shouldn’t have been there, and would complain with a laugh that I worked exactly like Bill (the autistic guy). I took it as a compliment even though she didn’t mean it that way. Even though she liked Bill better than she liked me, what she meant is that it had been revealed to her that I wasn’t so fucking smart; I was actually slow and retarded with no clue how normal people do things.

Everybody liked Bill. So did I, and when someone got in his way when he was headed somewhere or tried to stop him and engage him in conversation and he’d pointedly stare straight past them above their heads and try to GET AROUND THEM, to steamroll straight past them, I totally understood what he felt like. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but very few people respect how we want to go directly from point A to point B without someone interfering with our straight line. GET OUT OF MY WAY.

I think it’s that desire to connect the dots (going from *not* having something I want to procuring it) in a very direct way that makes turning a trick in a casino to get money for a steak and more time at the slots seem perfectly logical and also anathema to me. It’s not a moral or ethical issue to me at all. It’s not natural to me to think about it in those terms. The notion of NOT doing it because it’s “wrong” is complete nonsense to me. There are plenty of reasons not to do it, but that’s not one of them.

Anyway, I had a good time by myself at the casino. I used to hate public smoking, but now that it’s illegal (except on reservations) it’s been so long that I actually sort of welcomed the stench and that whole Vegas smell. I was dizzy by the time I left.

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.

Just a quick post to say that we have family visiting today and tomorrow so some of our cams and audio will be down. It’s been too long since we’ve seen our nephew and we haven’t even given my sister her present for her birthday which was a month ago. It’s a hot pair of peeptoe sandals so in the back of my mind I’m hoping I can get a set of foot-focused pics out of her while she’s wearing them, too. Is that so wrong? PROBABLY!

Some snaps of me from the last time we had company over:

My psychiatrist’s office finally called back so I made an appointment to get back on Ritalin. I got a huge headache yesterday because I’ve been trying to use caffeine instead of prescription stimulants and caffeine? It’s pure fucking evil. I don’t have to consume much over the course of three or four days to suffer nasty consequences.

Even though I was almost totally out of commission yesterday with the headache, I did manage to write and post for members a sicko masturbation fantasy I had. I’m not sure if other people will jack off to it, but it’s an interesting peek into the mind of a woman and how the threat of violence from men is a constantly disturbing companion that can’t be safely separated from sex in our subconscious minds. Our brains are diseased with scary men.

Last night we had sex almost purely for the fun and pleasure of it (rather than as an obligatory conception attempt). I rubbed some Skin Trip lotion all over my face and neck, then all over Delia’s face and neck. It smelled like a hundred hot, tangled-up memories from the past eight years. We lit candles so the light had the same quality as the light in a million indistinguishable, pleasant past-times. I put on music from albums I’ve had since I was a teenager. I would say that it made me feel young again, but that’s not quite accurate; I think it made me remember that I used to be younger than I am now. It was like visiting myselves from years past. It was sweet.

I was really excited about having my boobs touched through my t-shirt, excited about looking down at them stretching out the thin fabric, watching them being groped and jostled and making the material covering them crease, tighten, tense, release. Excited about having them pressed upwards and jiggled around. I was adamant about having them fondled up to and throughout my orgasm. In the moments before and during, I was thinking about touching this girl’s nipples, imagining both having them as her and touching them as a him. I got off on it, guiltily, because that’s the hottest way for me in my head.