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It’s Friday night, and I have myself all to myself.
When the weekend starts I get to feel invisible, the way I do when I’m up all night. Independent of other people’s expectations and standardized routines. Normal people go their way, and I untether myself from any semblance of connection to the majority, drifting into a continuity of creative solitary work that makes me glad nobody cares what I’m doing tonight, or if they do care, they know that I want to be left alone.
Like our friends who left a message about a party invitation for tomorrow. That I’m glad I didn’t hear until tonight when it’s too late, even though they already acknowledged on the message that they know I’m not too big on gatherings. I will tell them that if I were going to go to any holiday party this year, it would be that one. And it’s true. Just being invited is good enough for me, and being invited too late to actually go is the cherry-of-relief on top.
I don’t know. Maybe I’d go just for a few hugs and a couple of tamales if I could somehow look pretty without washing my hair. Or if I knew I’d meet somebody with a big dick there who’d take me into the woods and fuck me. But I do have to wash my hair and even if I did, there wouldn’t be some big-dick no-problems stranger there, and even if there were, I’d come back from the woods with my clean hair all fucked up and everybody would feel sorry for me for being such a slut.
Everybody always feels sorry for me for the wrong fucking reasons. I’m so fucking bored by normal-people interactions I want to rip my dirty-clean hair out and my clothes off just so we all have something to talk about.
Wrong numbers are my favorite people to talk to.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) December 19, 2015
The phone rings with a name I don’t recognize. So I pick it up. If it was somebody I actually knew, I wouldn’t want to talk and would have just sat there, cringing and guilty, waiting for the ringing to stop.
A man’s voice demands to know who I am.
Dude, you called me … who are YOU?
He’s frustrated and insists that *I* called *him*, but I didn’t. I didn’t call anyone. But I’m compelled to help him get to the bottom of it. A woman’s voice breaks in every so often to balance out the guy’s tension; she’s really sorry to bother me. She thanks me for my time.
YOU CALLED ME! I MISSED YOUR CALL! I’M JUST CALLING YOU BACK! AT NUMBER (not my area code) (not my phone number at all). I tell them my area code (not the one he said called him at all) and we’re all flummoxed. How could this be? So I suggest they try calling “me” back again to see if the same thing happens. AND IT DOES! They call a number that’s not mine at all, and my phone rings!
We’re united in this intrusive, totally mundane mystery.
She apologizes again. I say it’s fine and that I’m totally bored anyway. And it’s true. Whatever normal conversations I could be having with people I actually know sound like boring torture compared to this meaningless interruption (that would bore most normal people) that’s like random chat roulette, trying to untangle some absurd crossed wires that we’ll never make sense of. I roll out hypotheses about google voice and call forwarding, I ask who his carrier is … I think in my head of someone who might be fucking with me because he likes fucking with people from a distance. But it’s probably none of these things. We’ll never know who each other is and why we wound up talking to each other.
Those were the only people I felt excited to be verbally engaged with today. On Friday. When normal people get off work and do normal “fun” things.
Strangers are the only ones you can say anything to. You don’t know each other so you can start from anywhere. Your entire reason for interacting is random, so whatever you say to each other can be random, too. You can pick the most important thing or share something real and observable happening right now. You’re not building on a relationship and have nothing to lose. You have no obligations to each other. Whatever and where and who you are RIGHT NOW at that moment is what you have in common, and RIGHT NOW is what I want to explore most closely. The observable things, the creation of connection starting from “zero” where there’s so much detail to explore without any memories of each other from any past time or any fear of we’ll break our friendship or future together. With strangers you get to be anybody, and still stay safely alone. You can teach each other magic and give each other keys you could never get from people you know. With people you know, you have to waste time asking about yesterday and planning tomorrow and wondering if they’re sick of you yet and how to manage yourself and your time together.
My spiritual advisor says “stay close” and “call anytime”. And he means it, but I don’t know how.
People say call somebody when you need to talk and “that’s what friends are for”. I don’t believe that. If you’re friends with somebody you know that they’re busy. You know they don’t have time. You know they’re going to worry and want to fix it all. You know you’re going to owe them afterwards, and you don’t want to owe anybody anything, especially not a harrowingly dull session listening to them tell you the whole entire plot of a movie you don’t fucking want to see LET ALONE HEAR SOMEONE DESCRIBE blow-by-blow, or shopping trip where they had to return something but then they forgot the receipt and then you won’t believe who they ran into. What’s worse for me is if the conversation is actually GOOD because I don’t know when the conversation should be over, or how I’m supposed to end it. So I just keep talking until my ear gets hot and my brain is jangled and nothing I say makes any sense and I just want to scream I LOVE YOU BYE BYE!!!!!! Instead you know the ending will be planning to see each other and I want to see each other but I don’t actually want to plan on it or commit to it and I don’t believe it anyway and just get off the phone and eat 3,000 calories because I don’t have xanax so I just have to eat my way into a tunnel of calm.
You can’t call people who care about you and just be as fucking weird or sad as you feel. It’s fucking unsettling, and I don’t want to unsettle people I love; that’s extremely counterproductive and I do enough of it already. I would rather call the prayer line of a televangelist or the sex toy infomercial line that has sex-specific numbers (I called the one that’s supposed to be for men because I figured they are used to hearing it all, but they insisted I call the line for women but it didn’t make sense because all of the operators were women).
What is the weird-feeling or sad-feeling equivalent for hitting the punching bag or pillow when you’re angry-feeling? For awhile it was the internet, but I think that internet is gone.
Sometimes you just want to hear somebody else’s weird voice in your ear, and that’s all. Somebody saying goodnight just to you and only you. And sometimes the only (or the best) way to get that is to pay a stranger for it.
Note: all is well here, and Delia puts up with talking to me every day if I want, and makes it so I get to be alone a lot without every being really *alone* or having to stay that way. Which is so fucking awesome that I continue to feel self-conscious and guilty about it and am still learning how to embrace it.
From some preview pics I posted tonight for members from a handful of some of the videos I have in my stash that nobody’s seen (yet):
Over the past couple of years I haven’t posted as much, but I’ve had sex with more people and learned a lot (more) about the kind of porn I want to make and be in (if I’m going to be in it with other people) and the direction(s) I want my site(s) to go.
A lot of this stuff has felt like an experiment in discovering how to balance having the best REAL sex possible (and sometimes relationships, and sometimes romantic relationships) while also making the best autobiographical (and/or just fun/interesting) porn . . . and living the healthiest life. And where to compromise . . . and when not to.
I still don’t have ALL of the answers, but what I do have has been worth getting. And I believe will be worth sharing. Eventually.
I’m still learning stuff, which is probably why I still love my job(s) and want to keep doing (most of/too many of) them.
Going downstairs now to shoot Delia’s mildly-Halloween-themed picture set and HD video.
Considering how sick, tired and antisocial I felt yesterday, I wound up having a super-social (for me) Valentine’s Day eve, starting with going with DaddyW for burgers and to see one of the best movies EVER on the big screen: The Third Man.
It was a double feature (worth watching this trailer for the festival, FYI) and I was so tired I almost fell asleep during Journey Into Fear (which I thought was perfectly entertaining even though it’s a “bad” movie, and I *loved* Orson Welles wearing those gloves and suggestively taking one of them off), but by midnight I perked up and hung out with a friend for a bit talking about one of my favorite subjects (POOPING!) and how old we are/feel.
And then I decided to see if a friend who was only in town until today was still awake enough to come over before he left. AND HE WAS!
It was a cozy night of fun and fuckery in flannel sheets. And now I’m going to have a bunch of cozy days and nights all to myself!
There was a big moon rising on my way home from Seattle. Heading to pick up ToRn while Toni did errands. A ferry ride and a sorta long atmospheric drive with good music.
I got to check out their home-on-wheels (cozy – part of me is jealous of their lifestyle) and chat with her a little bit before driving off with her husband, which is something most people would find kind of funny. And it IS kind of funny and something that I don’t think her or I is altogether used to experiencing yet. But it’s sweet and super normal in some ways, too.
So he and I turned on some flames and took off our clothes and fucked for a couple of hours, then she came to pick him up but I ruined the entrance he’d choreographed by forgetting that I’d locked the front door. So I’m on all fours and he’s behind me with his dick inside me and she’s knocking and we’re yelling COME IN! COME IN!!! but I had to pull myself off of his dick and get up to open the door, and then it seemed kind of awkward.
Some people say everything happens for a reason.
Oddly enough I don’t think she’s even seen me naked in person, which is hilarious since we met via social networking for our amateur porn sites over a decade ago. So I think I was all naked and she was all dressed and I just . . . tried to make her feel more comfortable (the threesome possibilities had been discussed before as well as her desire to watch). Starting with asking if I could kiss her. And people . . . I’m sorry, but consent is way fucking trickier than we all want it to be in a perfect world. Honestly I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to . . . and I asked her different ways, checking in in different ways. Intuition DOES count for something though. And experience. And empathy. And people don’t always want you badgering them to promise that they like what you’re doing, they just want to know they can say no when/if it becomes clear and you’ll respect it. Sometimes we aren’t sure if we’re going to like something but we still want to try. But not have to initiate it. I think she said she didn’t want to think . . . she just wanted to go with the flow. So sometimes you just resign yourself to the fact that someone’s probably just LETTING you kiss them, and in so doing they might come to like it . . . OR be totally repelled and push you away. You just hope you’re a good enough kisser to make their racing thoughts slow down. Fortunately for me there are also drugs to help that. And I know the feeling of not exactly being in the mood BUT WANTING A FUCKER TO *GET* ME IN THE MOOD.
So things warmed up a little and I excused myself for a few minutes. When I came back husband AND wife were naked, kissing in front of the fire. I got behind her and pressed my naked body against her naked backside and got my own massive exquisite rush of pure natural delicious human drugs like oxytocin.
Her body is INCREDIBLE – getting to touch her and press myself against her and explore all of her made me both euphoric and sedated. Her body is fucking OPULENT. And getting to reach around and grapple with her big natural boobs? OH MY GOD I BECAME A TEENAGER. Like, WOW!
AND WHAT FOLLOWED WAS HOURS AND HOURS OF FUN DREAMY SEX.
It’s weird how being forty-ish feels and looks so grown-up and so YOUNG at the same time. It was like being twelve and spending the night at a friend’s house . . . and spying on the friend’s parents getting it on with your mom. Only I was my own imaginary mom AND myself spying on it all. Does that make sense? It was pretty awesome. My favorite thing about threesomes is probably just getting to watch, reaching out and touching with my eyes AND sticking my hands in to feel what I’m seeing. I also like being able to get snacks during marathon fucks . . . nothing better than eating a snack while you hang out and watch people fuck and suck. But I can assure you that I only ate half a snack all night on Monday, and if you know me at all you’ll recognize this sex must’ve been pretty fucking hot for me to go over eight hours with only half a snack to eat.
I don’t know what all I should divulge here (and honestly it’s nice to keep some elements private; even though people were watching on our lifecams, the light was low so I don’t think a lot of detail was broadcast – plus I should save some stuff for us to share with members 😉 I’m not even saying some of my favorite things. Like the different things she said when she got bossy with me, which was excellent.
A languid moment full of sweet tender yum:
We didn’t plan on this, and DEFINITELY weren’t planning to make porn . . . just a few memories captured of just a few moments. She does inspire me to worship her with a camera, though.
I am lucky to get to experience these things. And I’m going to tell you something . . . you are lucky to get a glimpse of these experiences. We should remember that whenever people share their bodies and intimate, vulnerable moments. Vulnerable because these aren’t things you can stage, and when they are real they aren’t things you can schedule or count on happening in the future and are often rife with confusion (see link below).
Some people have a lot of experience with polyamory. We don’t. And I actually can’t conceive of any relationship I will ever have in my life being something I can approach with expertise. If you ask me how to do it, I’ll pretty much have to shrug my shoulders, warn you not to follow my lead because I continue to make mistakes, and wish you good luck. Bravery, honesty, coping skills and LUCK.
It’s not for everybody, if only because very few people are lucky enough to have the freedom and space (PRIVILEGE) to engage in so many tricky and time-consuming layers of relating to so many people and learning all kinds of scary things about ourselves and each other.
To get a little of her perspective, here’s a post she just made today which is about a lot more than just a threesome.
So I’m in Seattle alone right now focusing on work and health and gobbling up solitude before family Christmas stuff next week. Delia‘s at home. We have moments of missing each other when we’re inhabiting these different space, but they are, as she said on the phone to me tonight, fleeting . . . overshadowed (or easily pushed aside with some effort and feelings of security) by how much we love the alone time to concentrate without interruption or obligation.
You can’t usually get everything you want all at once or the things cancel each other out. I guess. I’m just guessing about all of this. And that’s probably the only other expertise I have; everybody’s just guessing. Nobody is an expert and you should listen to more songs that are about uncertainty and loss and bullshit and love that rhymes instead of trying to figure things out with your head. Music will tell you the truth that you’ll be happy and sad and in and out of love and hot and cold and full of shit and make pretty memories and very rarely get to count on anything. Oh . . . and girls are pretty.
I’m not even sure whether or not I posted my favorite picture here.
Yes, I know I spelled “Hitachi” incorrectly. It’s an inside joke . . . and a dedication.
I know I’m not the only one who woke up all fired up and ready to go for quality time with this vibrator after last night.
Hoping to get (low-light, candid, amateur style, camera-phone quality) pictures from last night and the okay to post one or more.
Having a GREAT full moon here! If you were paying attention to our lifecams last night you know a LITTLE of what I’m talking about.