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I don’t know how my fingernails got this long (they’ve always grown really really fast), but I need to cut them. Seems like a waste not to get at least ONE pretty picture with them, though, so here it is:

Long Fingernails, Shiny Pink Pussy

It looks pretty, but also illustrates the fingernails’ lack of function when it really counts; what can I really DO to my pussy while I’m sporting those nails . . . besides injure it? So yeah . . . it’s just for show. If only I had a bunch of penis-people to give fancy-nail hand-jobs to on video . . .

*****

I love the moon and stars. As the days get longer again it makes all the shiny sparkly things at night look even more enchanting.

Moon tonight, behind house, through trees

Tonight Delia made an awesome salad for us. Perfect bite-size greens, thin slices of red bell pepper, avocados, LOTS of walnuts, still-warm bacon, tomato . . . maybe some other stuff I’m forgetting?

*****

Some of my productive working hours today were consumed by . . . stuff . . . and trying to find a lightweight chat client Delia and I can use just to talk to each other with a minimal amount of intrusion and strain on our machines and fewer interruptions to each other when we’re working solo (like when she’s camming and/or I’m webmastering or hatching evil schemes). The intercom and texting and email aren’t working since it takes too long to text, we don’t always have our phones with us, I always have my phone on silent (plus it takes too long to text), I keep email closed / only check it once or a few times a day, etc.

I just want to be able to work for hours at a stretch with no human interaction. It’s best for everybody sometimes and a lot more efficient for me. I also want to avoid being an asshole to live with, and I think the chat thing will help when I’m in a leave-me-alone-I’m-CONCENTRATING mood. Because I always feel shitty when I have to say that out loud, partly because its soooooooooooo hard for me to say it in a nice way. When I’m concentrating I don’t want to make words with my mouth. It, like, HURTS.

Chat is a good way for me to interact because I can use emoticons instead of expressing things with my face or using my voice. So we’re trying out Miranda and made new id’s on a social network that only the two of us know about. I cannot sign in on most places without being inundated with bullshit and SOUNDS and I just really want to not have my chat program crashing all of the time or just being a resource hog in general. Unfortunately it took some time just to customize simple things (sounds! there were none!) with Miranda. We just want it for communicating with each other, I do not want to be pestered to chat with anyone except Delia when I’m trying to work.

The way I see it, phones and instant messengers are tools people use to SET OFF ALARMS in other people’s homes and lives. I do not like it when people set off alarms in WebWhore Headquarters — I do not like it when alarms ring when I’m working or wiping my ass or masturbating or eating or listening to birds or trying to learn new things or remember old things I’ve forgotten — so I want to be able to turn off all of the alarms and have just one that only Delia can ring.

And that I can use to ring her. AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAIN!! I am very glad that she doesn’t have the same sensitivity to interruptions that I do. Still, I know she doesn’t always welcome me stomping up the stairs into HER office space or calling her when she’s trying to flirt with her cam customers.

Me, as a suggestive porn monkey eating a banana for a lunch snack today:

Outside my cabin window moments ago:

The sky right now is actually a threatening blue-bruised heavy grey.

I have to take care of the bills. And an assortment of other things.

I was over an hour late taking my birth control pill today. So much cum in me. At least one load almost every day.

I like doing shows with the returning cam customer who last night said, “oh yeah . . . show my those udders . . . those cow udders hanging down,” and said he wants to get me pregnant so he can milk them. I like hearing his voice when he talks about my “filthy cunt”.

A lot of you might not understand this, but I think he’s a really nice guy and I totally enjoy doing shows with/for him. He’s very polite and considerate and likes to talk to me after he cums even though it’s not a requirement for me to appreciate his patronage.

*****

You have no idea how much is going on here at our house and inside of us and each other. Maybe if you’re watching on our spycams, though, you’ve seen the fucking, the hours upon hours of talking, the exhaustion, the late late nights, the fucking, the pictures being taken, the working, the dancing and leaping and hugging, the cleaning and even some crying.

Amazed that I’m not only still standing, but thriving on multiple levels. Even more amazed by Delia and Rugaru.

Dim light coming through skylight in my cabin's loft.

I don’t know how many nights and days Delia’s boyfriend has been here now. How many nights I’ve slept by myself in the cabin. How many times we’ve fucked. In what variations. How many times we’ve come. How many hours of sleep lost. How much work left undone.

Watching Worf leading a Tai Chi class on Star Trek: Next Gen

I’m surprised and confused by liking so much of this as much as I do. I’m distressed by the vulnerability of wanting more of it / not wanting Delia’s boyfriend aka The Hunter to leave yet.

But he went grocery shopping and made lasagna and says I should let him clean my toilet. And Delia loves him. And he’s a big Star Trek: The Next Generation fan, too. And made me feel better after this by saying what a good Captain he thinks Kathryn Janeway is.

The Hunter serving up lasagna he made.

All of the talking and phone noises and not-knowing-what-next tires me out. Or maybe all of the not-sleeping tires me out. And worry over not getting “enough” done. And being totally overstimulated.

But when we were all in bed talking about ST: Voyager and The Hunter changed the subject from an argument over our diverging opinions of Chakotay by asking, “can you imagine being able to hold it together after finding your little ship thrown however-many parsecs or light years away from home and not knowing if you’ll ever get back?” It reminded me of  one of my coping tools:

Sometimes when my eyeballs feel like they’re about to pop out of my head from the force of my frustration and I start hyperventilating and looking around for things to throw out the window (or AT the window while it’s still closed so they’ll both make satisfyingly loud shattering sounds), I try to calm down by asking myself, “what would I do if I were an Officer on the Starship Enterprise? I certainly wouldn’t behave like this, even if WebWhore Headquarters were about to blow up in forty-five seconds!” Patience! Faith in one’s own problem-solving abilities! Barely a sense of urgency: just a confident, one-step-at-a-time pursuit of a solution with nary a raise in my heart rate.

If our lives right now were an episode of Star Trek, it would be one of my all-time favorites. With me as a cross between Quark, Barclay, and a special busty guest who loves cock.

*****

There is a loving, guiding friend in our (especially Delia’s and now The Hunter’s) lives who says something about salvation being a word that actually means homecoming. To be welcomed home into a family of people who know and love you at a fundamental level . . . to FIND your home, or make a new right one. We long for salvation, to be embraced by people who recognize us as a child of good no matter what mistakes we’ve made or how broken and fucked up we are.

*****

I started weeping when Delia played the Jerry Garcia Band cover of The Maker and couldn’t finish eating my lasagna in bed.

Happily spending the holiday at home alone together, just Delia and I . . . plus the quiche she made.

My sister and her family are with my brother-in-law’s family in the Midwest, and we celebrated with my mom by spending an evening in Seattle with her last week, so we’re off the hook today and can just enjoy being in our magical house together, lazily watching television and the trees swaying and the rain falling.

Tomorrow and Saturday we’re planning to do a lot of camming! You can find Delia here and ME over HERE, and/or if you’re a member of ours catch our group shows.

Last night I dreamt about two of my favorite things: food and fountain pens.

But I couldn’t have them.

The fountain pens belonged to rich boys, so I could only look longingly at the collection while I felt/was out of place at their mansion/castle.

At the conservatory luncheonette (all glassed in at the end of a long walk with snow falling), one particular slice of chocolate cake I wanted cost $45.  FORTY FIVE FUCKING BUCKS for a single piece of cake!!

If I’d have been lucid I would have SNATCHED that cake, CRAMMED it in my mouth, and at the mansion I would have stolen all of those boys’ pens.

SO THERE!

We took a walk tonight. Sand came in through the air-holes in the tops of my new shoes. I’d anticipated that, so I didn’t wear them for the beach part of the walk, but then there was unexpected sand.

We saw a Komfort branded travel trailer and decided if we ever took to the road in comfort, we would call it our “CumFort”. At the time it seemed really funny.

I have heartburn right now which is really annoying because I haven’t eaten anything deliciously bad for me today. It doesn’t actually burn, it’s just like a heavy lump of mild pain in between my back and the middle of my chest. Like if you could swallow it down it would turn into an ass-ripping turd the size and shape of a small cannonball.

Then it was dusk and we heard music and decided to investigate. There was only one number left so they let us in for free. We were exactly where I like to be: on the periphery, behind the partitions, peering through little windows. The stage was full of men with their instruments, and when they started playing them I felt like crying (don’t worry; I feel like crying about everything I like sometimes). They all took turns making their math sounds with their mouths and breaths and hands and hammers, and I could move around a little without being obnoxious because of where we were, on the edge in the back. It was beautiful and every voice was different and “special” and all of that shit, like the little guy with the silk pants and baritone sax got the most cheers next to the guy playing vibes. That made me want to play vibes too, not because he got the most cheers but because I’ve always wanted to if always means for the past 16 years. But there’s not even room for my piano in the new house and I hardly ever play it anyway so whatever.

When Delia found a ten dollar bill in the pocket of her vest she hasn’t worn in awhile, I immediately thought ICE CREAM CONES, but then I remembered I’m not eating that kind of thing. At least not today. Now that I have heartburn I resent not having the ice cream. Found money in my head LOOKS like a plate of mashed potatoes and gravy with some salty bloody meat on the side or ice cream or salt ‘n vinegar chips in bed plus chocolate cake and three different beverages.

There were 10, 20, 30 . . . probably 40 people on that stage. Every single one of them was a man, talking their math language to each other, showing off their chops. I loved it, but I get sick and tired of people not giving a shit about how obvious it is that something’s wrong and acting like we’re assholes for noticing it. That isn’t why I felt like crying, though. I felt like crying because I loved it/them. It just would have been nice if there were even ONE FUCKING WOMAN up there. I would like to see more stages filled with ten, twenty, thirty women or more. But I guess then they’d all start talking at once and smiling and hugging and ruining the whole thing? I don’t know what the problem is, I just know that there is one. And it has something to do with Amy Winehouse . . .

We took a night off yesterday so I’m going to post this gallery tomorrow for members:

Hiding My Nakedness

We’re beginning a new tradition of taking one night off of work and the dog a month. For us, to get away from work, we actually have to leave the house, the webcams, the computers and the big camera. We board the dog at a nice farm-y kennel, and we get a room. Last month wasn’t as fun as this month because last time we did work while we were away and had to pack to shoot, get up early, etc.  / just one of the nights was “off”.

This time we didn’t have to pack ANYTHING except cozy clothes so getting out of the house was a lot easier and no-stress. We got a room at the Suquamish casino and arrived right before dusk with everything looking spooky and beautiful outside of the big windows of the hotel. We put on our bathing suits right away to take advantage of the swimming pool and hot tub.

Delia lounging by the pool

It was SO NICE! One of the benefits of staying at a casino in Washington (where it’s not really a destination for anything BUT gambling, unlike Vegas) must be that everyone else is at the tables and slot machines while the pool is totally EMPTY. We had the place all to ourselves, allowing Delia to shoot this upskirt shot while I read Wizard’s First Rule (as soon as I finish it we’re going to start watching Legend of the Seeker which I’ve been DYING to see; I’ve caught little pieces of it here and there, but wanted to watch it from the beginning with the background of having read the book):

Flashing my fantasy-loving twat by the pool.

We swam and we soaked, totally loving the big sunken hot tub outside. It was perfect with the cold winter air and rain in the dark, watching the drops fall in the water up to our chins. The only thing that sucked was not being able to be naked. It felt criminal, really — so unnatural and weird. How can you be outside in hot water at night breathing in all of that mist and wear a constricting swimsuit without feeling like a law is being broken? I don’t know. But it was worth it. I did consider taking my suit off, but it would have sucked to have gotten the boot with our evening barely started and I know I would’ve been nervous, looking around trying to be ready to frantically pull the fucker back on if anybody approached.

We totally overate while we were gone. The best thing we got was at Tizley’s Europub in Poulsbo this afternoon: their warm mustard-y German potato salad was delicious as fuck, and perfect with our bratwurst.

We were more than ready to come home and get back to work after barely being gone 24 hours, but the fucking bridge opened (meaning it CLOSED to vehicle traffic) right as we were about to head back so we went to “the fish park” to wait it out. I’m pretty sure that’s what the sign said, just “the fish park”. We enjoyed our little low tide stroll:

Romantic carvings at The Fish Park

Winter sky at The Fish Park

We Love Bats and Bat Houses!

I’m looking forward to whatever we decide to do on our February night off . . . maybe something involving less food and some museums or something like that. Or, better yet, some place with a hot tub outside where we’re allowed to be naked.

While walking, December 23rd, 2009

We walked downtown to our favorite sandwich and coffee joint. Delia finished her lunch and groaned about how over-full she was.

“Foundered?” I asked her.

“What?”

“Are you foundered?”

“Founded? Floundered? WHAT?”

“No, FOUNDERED! Are you FOUNDERED!”

She looked even more confused when she answered, “no . . . I’m totally LOSTered”.

*****

We’ve been together more than seven years. Over this most recent one, her body has become new to her and to us. There are so many things you can’t see or feel by looking at pictures. Changes only I’m privy to.  When I place my hand over hers, it’s so soft. Her arms are so soft.  Her mouth is so yielding. Her face is so soft and looks so different to me. In ways you might not notice if you haven’t been lying in bed with her every night for seven years. Luminous, radiant, serene . . . heart-meltingly beautiful.

She reminds me of divinity. White whipped waves of sweet solid froth that looks substantial until you hold it in your mouth and it’s a mass of a million tiny soft pockets of air you absorb so fast. You’re eating sweet air given just enough of a slight temporary body to inform you you’re privileged to devour the form of an angel. Her tongue is like that. The way you melt into your girlfriend’s body. The way you melt into togetherness and your mouth is full of nothing but sweet. The edges are just a frame for softness. I like to hold her in my mouth, close my eyes, and let her dissolve into my bloodstream.

There are recipes for this. Special chemistries that rely on the temperature and the weight and the wetness of the air plus a perfect balance of ingredients. It’s a very delicate process, and only certain ladies have the gift to create bodies of divinity. My girlfriend is one of them. It’s art, inheritance, science . . . and a gift gods only bestow on a few.

While she was cooking I kissed her on the ankle.

*****

We saw Santa on a motorcycle at a stoplight. I whooped and he waved. We waved.

A few blocks later we passed a playground with a dozen kids telling us, telling each other, telling their parents, telling everyone:

THE REAL SANTA!! I saw the real Santa! The REAL Santa on a motorcycle!! I saw him! It was the real Santa! Did you see Santa? I SAW SANTA!

They celebrated with shock and awe and hysterical thanksgiving this fleeting glimpse of a man in a red suit riding by on a black and chrome motorcycle.  THE REAL SANTA!! Little evangelical Santa believers, riled up with faith revived.

It was fucking beautiful.

*****

On Christmas Eve we had pizza slices for a big snack. I couldn’t stop kissing her mouth, our lips slick with orange-colored oil. Looking at her mouth and wanting to press my smile into hers. I took a picture of her and sent it when a song came on the radio. I asked her and all of the pizza boys how to spell Skynyrd. Nobody knew for sure but it was a good conversation. Hot open ovens in front of us, cold open door at our backs. Two women kissing each other and three young men spelling S-K-I-N-Y-R-D . . . no, S-K-Y-N-I-R-D . . . wait a second . . . S-K-Y-N-A-R-D.

Pizza time with Delia on Christmas Eve

*****

This is our seventh Christmas together. About six months ago I developed a new fear when I recognized that I wouldn’t know how to live without her. That I’ve forgotten how. Sometimes when I put my hand over her soft hand my chin starts to wobble because of how much that idea scares me.

Our Seventh Christmas Eve Together

Delia told me today’s Star Wars Day so I thought I better post something. About how my own life force has been idling; maybe my new estrogen-heavy birth control pill is making it so it takes ten hours to wake up and all I want to do is gobble up food. MAYBE. Or maybe I’m just a Very Sleepy Lard Ass.

Anyway, everything is sort of on hold here while we wait for my sister to go into labor. Due to our far-flung location on the Olympic Peninsula and our usual route to Seattle being severed by a major bridge being closed for six weeks, I’ve been really anxious about how we’ll manage to get to Seattle in time to see our second nephew being born. I’m finally calming down about it now, but I did go on a late-night rampage through our town channeling my mother as I stood on the dock screaming, “ALL I WANT IS A FUCKING FERRY SCHEDULE!! GODDAMN IT I HATE THIS FUCKING TOWN!!”

Okay, I didn’t really do that, but I totally WANTED to, which made me start laughing hysterically in the same exact way my mom does after she’s loudly expressed her feelings in a public place, much to the shock and awe of all spectators. Sometimes people in this town are helpful in every single annoying way they possibly can be without being at all capable of delivering the one thing you do want. Yes, I fucking KNOW the ferry schedule is online. Actually we CAN get to Bremerton with the bridge being closed, it will just take longer (you may be older than I am, lady, but have you ever looked at a fucking MAP?). No, I do NOT want your six-month-old schedule nor do I want to call the Department of Transportation for the schedule. I want the fucking fold-out piece of paper that does not require speaking to anybody or having an internet connection.

Ferry schedules are one of those types of items that are always littering your cars and house when you don’t need them but are impossible to locate when you do. And the people in this town are lovely, they just really drive me batshit sometimes. I don’t feel the need to reach a group consensus with strangers on the best way to get to Seattle. I can still see the tortured looks on three people’s faces as they begged me to stay at the quickie-mart so they could offer their useless advice on guiding me to the right ferry even as I told them they couldn’t possibly help me unless they know the exact time my sister is going into labor. Because there are at least five different routes we could take that are all dependent on what day of the week and time of day we leave and whether or not the wind is blowing hard enough to knock out the closest ferry.

Okay. I promise to stop ranting about this to every/anyone who will listen (unless someone has the audacity to try to make a travel suggestion to me in the comments; if that happens, I will recommence ranting). I’ve procured the schedule (which totally conflicts with the information online) and the only thing we can do now is wait. Or leave early and be stuck there for days since watched pots never boil.

*****

I have a sneaking suspicion my gigantic hunger, lethargy, and the mild cramps I’ve had all week will go away as soon as my sister delivers. Until then I’ve been spending more time off cam than I usually do, hiding in our “secret” rooms, getting some private time before we have sleepless hours of family time that includes watching my little sister go through immense physical trauma and then experiencing the amazingly beautiful emotional wreckage that goes along with welcoming a new member of the family into the world.

Or maybe I just need to readjust my sleep and work schedule and give in to my night-owl tendencies. Sometimes I’m able to behave normally, sometimes not. Could be a seasonal thing. Or allergies. Or that I’m just insane in the membrane. Or all of the above.

As usual, I’ve got more interesting (to you) posts to make and pictures to share, but I wanted to spit out the quick and dirty daily details before going to bed. More of them here on DailyTrixie.