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Archive for the ‘full moon’ Category

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?

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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 didn’t do it on purpose, but I took some of these pics at exactly 2:28 am in 2/28. Technically, I took them at 2:28 on 3/1 but I don’t switch the day in my head until after I’ve fallen asleep.

Full Moon, February 28th 2010, 2:28 am

I intended to post these images of the crone moon along with a tribute to pianist Martha Argerich and wax on about the furious potency of certain women as they age, and that I have never seen or felt any man hold a candle to a woman like her. Maybe I was going to write about how watching her almost makes me believe in a pantheon of goddesses. I think I might have intended to use her as just one example of why feminism is still relevant to me: that women of talent, of fury, of power, and of age are so invisible to us and when we do notice them, they’re despised and/or part of a fetishized niche: curiosities collected by people with very special interests.

Triple Goddess in the form of YouTubed Martha:

I’m not somebody who believes the only way to celebrate age is to exhibit disgust for those who are enchanted and aroused by youth, I just think think the imbalance of visibility and admiration is grotesquely skewed to a point that pains and mystifies me. I want MOREMOREMORE grey hair and widened wisdom and that patient look of years of practice you can see in Martha’s eyes. Like she could summon up thunderbolts and DESTROY YOU in the blink of an eye and go right back to playing with smoking fingertips except that destroying you would be a waste of her time so maybe she’d just wink and shuffle off to mist her orchids and you’d know that she knows exactly how many pounds of bullshit you’re full of.

The mastery of older women. I want to be surrounded by that and bow before it at least once a week. Towards that end I seem to be in certain kinds of love with a stout greying-haired dyke with twinkling eyes who told me about oxytocin and makes me want to beg her take me golfing. Even with ten other people in the room listening to her I feel like she’s talking directly to me and I’m drifting towards her, ready for our bosoms to melt into each other. You know that feeling like you’re RIGHT ABOUT TO KISS SOMEONE even though she’s halfway across the room? I can imagine breathing our mouths into a soft little seal where she could magically keep talking, ministering to me, reeling me into a quiet place removed from everyone else’s noise where I could even become blissfully deaf to myself. Every time I see her now I can feel it, melting into her at the mouth and the chest and the belly. I don’t think I’ll do anything about it because I’m pretty sure she has cats (or A cat, at least, of course) and I’m too young and scattered to waste her time with my crushing, but a somewhat-younger woman can dream. And melt and drift and submit.

February Full Moon Dancing

I didn’t get around to digitally memorizing the most recent full moon in March, but I was CLOSE with a camcorder in a windstorm at night while clouds raced across her wake of light without losing any speed. And then there were too many of them and only my eyes could appreciate the glimmers of shine that were still visible from down here on the ground.

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Note: I hate the words “pics” and “vids”, but those abbreviations work really well and are more popular search terms, so I stick them in my blog entry titles anyway (also to alert folks following my RSS feed that it’s a multimedia entry and maybe worthier of a click-through).

It’s been an eventful week for us, mostly because we got out of our bubble and shot some porn with/for someone else: Delia and I did a scene together and I did some foot stuff plus a scene  with a lovely uncut cock (well, with a guy and his lovely uncut cock: I’ll try to provide more details later).

I’m busy trying to start the year off right by building promos for Delia’s site, but taking a QUICK break to post a few pictures here from my latest members-only update, since I know my blog hasn’t been exactly “sexy” lately:

In honor of the Blue Moon on New Year's Eve

We were excited about the last full moon of 2009 being a blue moon.

My natural boobs & silk stockings.

Note: if you’ve never worn real silk stockings OMG you must — they feel truly heavenly.

My own pale "full moon"

Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the promo building; the last thing I want to do on the first day of the new year is take a day off — I’m excited to start 2010 off on the right foot! I hope the sight of my boobies helps you to do the same .

Lots more pics inside my members-only area!

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Members: CLICK HERE for all 250 pics in online slideshow

or ZIP FILE of 250 pics at 1600 pixels on long side

Not a member? JOIN HERE FOR ACCESS

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We had a great visit with Delia’s family. My sister and brother-in-law loaned us Mr. Squishypants (their two year-old son/our nephew) which makes socializing so much easier; he’s beautiful, charming and a joy to be around. We had dinner together then went to a big park in Seattle and played until it got dark and we could see the full moon between the trees.

At that point Delia’s uncle, a slightly grizzled, mildly-boozy-from-dinner Iowa farmer, shook Mr. Squish’s hand and solemnly looked him in they eye, saying he’s a wonderful boy and hoped he’d see him again soon. Mr. Squishypants returned a firm chubby-fingered grip and nodded his own head in slow, somber agreement, his big blue eyes level as he said, “yeah”. He says “yeah” a lot these days. He used to say “dick” or “dickle” when he meant “yes”, but recently he replaced “dickle” with the standard “yeah”. Anyway, it was moving seeing an expression on his little face that conveyed something like, “we served in the war together, buddy, and saw things we’ll never speak of when we get home to our families, but I will never forget you. I’m glad I saved your life once, and you mine.” It was like unexpectedly witnessing a secret handshake between two people you never would have guessed had met somewhere before or had a common bond.

It just fucking amazes me how kids learn to communicate, not just with words, but by mimicking our nonverbal language. Sometimes by removing the knowledge of the meaning behind the language a kind of universal human truth is spoken. Mr. Squishypants and Delia’s uncle shared a solemn moment full of mutual respect and human connection that transcended what was spoken and understood. They made a connection and I witnessed it (because I was holding him in my arms at the time so they were face to face), the way his angelic little face dipped as he bowed his head slightly to say, “yeah” and he blinked his eyes for only a moment, the rest of the time maintaining eye contact — it was so full of intuitive wisdom. On one hand it makes you think about how little substance there is to our interactions, that it’s all a meaningless charade we teach each other and find compelling when someone does a good job of acting it out. On the other hand it makes you wonder how much meaning is created in a big and powerful way by the emotional response we have to witnessing and performing these interactions. Like when we smile out of obligation even when we don’t mean it and somehow we feel better inside for doing it. Yes, we’re machines whose behavior can be shaped, but why dwell on our mundane construction when our experiences FEEL so profound? I can intellectualize it and scoff at it as simpleminded copycatting barely more advanced than tricks you can teach a dog, but watching my nephew shake hands or raise a glass to his fellows and say, “cheers!” or high five people or DANCE is like cuddling with divinity, whether such a thing exists or not.

And have you ever noticed how much two year old bodies resemble monkeys? The way their legs and toes move. The way they bend at the waist. How can you avoid trusting, even if just for a moment, in both evolution and God when you see that? A little monkey with my grandma’s face, my sister’s face, his dad’s face, even my face. Layers of the gift of immortality, or at least its illusion.

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If I’m not pregnant, my period will probably start today. Also, here’s another post over on Fertile(?)Trixie if you’d like to read about my paranoia regarding orgasms and implantation.

A DARK BLUE BLUR

Last week we revived our backyard spycam for members. We don’t have it on the highest-quality spycam site so it’s not as pretty as before, but you can still see the time of day and weather we’re experiencing in our world and even the moon (a circle of white in a field of darkness accompanied by a reflection of the light from the webcam in the window; note: photo above is NOT from our spycam).

Last night we spent some time in bed together holding hands with the lights off and the curtains open, just staring up at the clouds and fog passing between us and the moon and listening to a soundtrack of spacey new age music (I’ll give a link to my iMix when I get it), breathing deeply and eventually falling asleep. We have a pretty fucking awesome view from our bed, I must say.

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I’ve been off the pill for about four months now; am I imagining that my body hair is thicker and more expansive than before? Seriously, my pits, pubes and facial hair seem a whole lot thicker and spread farther afield than while I was on birth control. Does anybody know if that is a normal thing to have happen when you stop taking the pill?

Hormones and gender are on my mind a lot these days because of Delia being in the process of transition and about to go on female hormones herself. It’s made me think more about my own gender identity and question things I might otherwise take for granted, like the simple process of my own hair growth. I’m not a very hairy person, but I am quite a bit hairier than my mom and sister. My facial hair isn’t dark or noticeable, but I have a lot of blonde fuzz on my face, to the point where it shocks people when the light hits it just right and they see how much of it there is. It makes me wonder how much of my differences from my mom and sister is a different mix of genetic traits and how much of it is a different blend of hormones.

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Speaking of hormones, I’m in the midst of my third whirl with PMS since going off the pill (so no, we’re not yet pregnant). I *really* miss my steady diet of hormones and am having a relatively difficult time without them. I don’t just suffer for a week — no, my mood swings, depression, and murderous impulses dog me for (what feels like) weeks in an exhaustingly unpredictable manner. I can reassure you that it’s not every moment of every day (hence the unpredictability) and life is sweet and peachy in so many ways, but overall I’m having a pretty hard time. It could be worse, I know, but I’d like it to be better. An example of my out-of-whack emotions: my eyes filled with tears last night when the clouds thickened enough to completely blot out our view of the moonlight. I would have started sobbing uncontrollably if not for worrying that Delia and our voyeurs would think I was crazy.

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Tomorrow (Tuesday) morning I’m going to be in the chatroom if you feel like keeping each other company. Here’s our schedule if you want more details.

QUICKIE

Ooooh, it’s been a while since I last posted.

How come? Because my one year old nephew has been here since Wednesday and we just took him back home today. While he was here he was our sun and we revolved completely around him.

Speaking of great spheres in the sky worth worshiping, we’re hoping to catch the lunar eclipse tonight. I might have to catch up on some sleep before that, though, and set an alarm to wake up for it because I’m exhausted.

I probably don’t need to mention it, but I’ve not written or responded to any email in about a week unless it was urgent. We’ll get back into the groove tomorrow, though, AND all of our cams and audio are back up now that Mr. Squishypants is no longer in residence.

MORE MOON

Taken on Sunday night, around midnight:

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We half-planned to do a nudie shoot in the moonlight last night, but scrapped that in favor of cuddling and going to sleep much earlier than we would have if we’d have trekked somewhere to shoot. Also, I wanted to have as much energy as possible for my planned-at-the-last-minute trip to Seattle today to help celebrate my sister’s birthday. Delia’s not coming with me since Cedar and I are going to spend the majority of our day at a spa. Not just any spa, either; I intend to use all of their hot rooms and hot pools to the full extent of their heat-giving capacities before I get pregnant since I won’t be allowed to steam or sauna or hot-tub it once I’m “with child” (or rapidly dividing cells or whatever).

Anyway, I think I’m going to try to set aside as many days surrounding the full moon next month as possible for shooting, and try not to have any distractions heaped up on those days. Even with it being July, the wind can be biting here in the middle of the night so if we ARE going to get some nude or partially nude moonlight sets, we only have a couple of months to do it without it being too cold to be fun. Also, we don’t really know what we’re doing in terms of taking the pictures and having them actually turn out, so I can’t really count on being able to use any of the pictures anyway.

I’ll be back home either tonight (late) or (probably) tomorrow. Must get as much squishy nephew cuddling as possible. Maybe being around the cutest one-year-old in the whole wide world will boost my fertility.

FULL MOON

While Delia and the dog slept, I snuck outside at 2 am to shoot the moon:

She must be camera shy because she ducked behind some clouds as I set up the tripod.

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If I were to take up a useless hobby for the sole purpose of pleasuring myself, it would be night photography. Stuff lit by headlights, moonlight, flashlights. And by “stuff” I mean trees, lines painted on roads, and sinister figures under street lamps. It’s my impression that you really need to shoot with film to do night photography justice, so I doubt it’s something I could really get off on properly without spending a serious amount of time learning real equipment and techniques (which I’ve not really had to invest a ton of time or money in to shoot porn; we get by with very basic information and an amateur camera).

I have a fear that someday when I finally *do* take up this hobby, that all of the country roads that inspired me to love driving at night as a teenager will be gone. It’s a realistic fear.