TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘masturbation’ Category

Images from a sweet masturbation video we shot on a super-fluffy bed in the hotel where we had our first threesome with The Hunter:

Masturbating with Silver Dong in White Panties & Nighty

The video is over seventeen minutes long with a very feminine buildup (including showing off my natural breasts and white bikini brief panties with a see-through back) to my orgasm.

Watch/download HERE if you’re already a member or JOIN HERE to become a member!

Monday, 9/6/2010: Day 4

This is the day I moved a vibrator into the cabin.

Post-orgasm with the vibrator I brought to the cabin.

I still haven’t taken a nap here but now I’ve broken in the loft with masturbation and orgasms. There’s no internet access here (a good, preferable, integral thing to this whole cabin experience) and I don’t have any dirty books here, so I was very limited in terms of porn to accompany my vibrator time. I’ve only downloaded three videos (not counting that Gossip Girl episode) to this laptop and those were all for research purposes just to gauge their quality so out of those I chose to masturbate to a teaser video Delia made last year.

I skipped through the parts I’m in to get to the real meat of the thing/away from visions of myself. I wanted to come to her Twin Peaks-y schoolgirl-in-plaid-skirt-and-white-panties thing, but  it’s hard to time things just right with a short compilation video like that meant merely to entice. I’m a chick with a vibrator though, so I got off on it three times. It makes me extra excited, actually, and I come faster when I’m “afraid” that the part I like is going to end REALLY FAST . . . when I know my favorite parts are limited. I didn’t time it properly the first time and wound up climaxing as she was eating her cum on the donut (totally NOT what I want to orgasm to, though I love directing her to eat it), but I did better the other times.

I also wrote an outline and some notes for a short story. I might have done some other stuff, too.

You can check out other people’s “Half Nekkid Thursday” pics for this week here (links are in the comments). If you like truly amateur / non-porn-pro stuff, you should definitely check it out.

I thought I’d be blogging a ton and going to museums and reading books and singing on streetcorners to make money to blow on sexy new outfits to clothe Delia’s new boobs while she’s recovering from her Friday surgery, but I haven’t done any of those things (surprised?).

Well, I *have* read some books.

Anyway, her fresh new boobs are looking big and . . . FRESH (that pic was snapped mere hours after surgery/the same day), in the way implants look when they’re new, plus a little gory underneath because of her stitched up incisions lined in blue marker and shiny/wet-looking with silagel steri-strips (I’m always confusing dildo materials with medical supplies).

Anyway, we’re flying homo tomorrow (these typos are what happen to you when you’ve been in San Francisco for a week, apparently) and we will resume our usual schedule of being boring on our voyeur cams, especially now that I can’t touch Delia’s boobs. That’s the part all of the proud husbands and boyfriends don’t tell you about, the way you only get to look at them for weeks or months while the little woman heals.

They’re awesome, though, and I’m so glad that I got that Ativan prescription for the plane along with an Ambien bonus. Even with the anti-anxiety meds I was a little skittish. I only wish I’d have thought to take it for the terrifying cab rides to and from the hospital. I am really just a frightened country mouse and this city is like a big piss-spattered blanket of concrete offering no solace except in the form of expensive foodstuffs. I like it, but after a week my nerves are frayed by all of the people and bustling and the alternating aromas of hot aged urine, delicious grilled meats, and skunky weed. Even the rotation of our room’s ceiling fan in the corner of my eye when I’m trying to read and block out the sound of the hotel’s pigeon mascot is about to give me a fucking seizure. But don’t feel sorry for me, I’m having fun and Delia is the one in REAL pain, not I.

I’m not complaining, just trying to make up for all of the crazy I haven’t been sharing during my period of blog silence! Because that’s what you come here for, right? To laugh at my hypersensitivity to stimuli that the rest of the civilized world tunes out? And the silliness of me feeling this way but denying myself the Ativan instead of using it during situations like this?

Seriously, it’s awesome being here I’ve just been having a hard time FINISHING blogging anything worth reading and if I don’t post something reflecting my curmudgeonly PRESENT, I may not post anything at all. Because it’s hard to do quickly-written justice to the sex dream I had about the frenetic pit bull and the way I almost passed out after I woke from it trying to jerk myself off standing up in the bathroom without letting Delia hear what I was doing.

Delia is just beginning to feel up to the challenge to venturing out to dine (just walking is painful after having 650 CC’s of silicone inserted under the muscles on each side of her chest) so we’re about to head out. All I’ve really accomplished over the past few days is 1) refilling her ice packs, 2) putting her hair in a ponytail when she asks me to, 3) helping her in and out of her button-up nightshirt and inspecting her incisions, and 4) taking her hair OUT of a ponytail when she asks me to. And making food runs!

Allow me to say another thank you to Tom for making these boobs and this trip possible, and for us not having to worry for a moment about how to scrape together the money for not just the surgery, medication, bras and stuff, but also the expense of the trip and food and everything for BOTH of us. Delia is a trooper and it sounds like I haven’t been doing anything very helpful, but it would have been really hard for her to be here alone and/or have to fly back right afterward. I don’t know how people manage on their own to deal with surgeries or broken bones, or even more challenging, how single women with children manage such things!

On a more serious note (speaking of ordeals and moms and stuff), AmberLily’s mom was hospitalized not long after having surgery (of the non-plastic/non-fun kind) and I don’t think they know what’s wrong with her so send positive vibes their way. So stressful, in ways that are much more worrisome than the effects of pigeons and ceiling fans on my fragile little mind.

Tomorrow Delia has her first follow-up appointment with the surgeon. I wonder if we should bring him flowers or a box of chocolates or something? I’m not sure what the etiquette of plastic surgery is in terms of thank-yous to doctors. I know presents aren’t NECESSARY or obligatory, of course, but very little in life IS (I mean, we’re dealing with something highly optional anyway, right?). One of the nurses told us he and his wife love pickles, so maybe some of those. That would be totally funny, to walk into his swanky office dripping green juice from one big, wet state-fair style pickle. Totally an uncitified way of giving thanks.

We were looking forward to doing our camshows last night and today for some orgasmic relief, but unfortunately our cable keeps taking a shit on us and going out during our shows. Today the reason they’re giving is “pocket outages” from downed trees because of the severe wind we had earlier this week (so I guess while they’re working on that they have to take it down? I don’t know).

Last night it went down during Delia’s show and stayed down during mine so I scrambled to do it in our bedroom on the DSL which is NOT set up as a camming station — no lights, no space to move the cam around, no toys, etc. It’s not something you can just adjust quickly, but it worked out alright because Delia came in and gave me her cock to suck on so everyone got to see her squirt a load on my tongue and have it drip down onto my juggies.

Today? I kept getting disconnected, had to log out ALL of our spycams on the cable to stabilize it, then my period randomly started gushing out of me which is great but requires some extra set up and me wanting to capture a few images since it’s so rare and precious . . . and right when I start fucking myself and was looking forward to an orgasm, the cable went out completely. With the amount of time I had left and my cramps starting it wasn’t worth it to try to move it into the dark bedroom/dsl station so I just had to cut it short and Delia canceled hers (she also has a really sore throat).

We’re still going to do members-only chat today, but the rest of it I’m sorry to say has to be written off as a loss and chalked up to bad weather, bad timing, etc.

I’m going to try to record a quick messy red masturbation video now. Which of course I won’t have time to actually edit and post.

FEELING REALLY FRUSTRATED.

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

Naturally nude, sitting on the Tantus Sport dildo.

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

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

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

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

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

I wish I’d have appreciated my 18-year old body and taken care of it when it was close to perfectible.

That’s what I was ABOUT to tweet, until I realized it’s a lie. I *did* appreciate my eighteen year old body. I’d been appreciating my maturing body for years in front of the mirror, naked. Or in this one awesome pair of yellow string bikini panties, very eighties style, with the tiny triangle and the extreme V sitting up high on the hips. I remember the brand was “Eve” and I got them at Lamont’s. I danced around in those and fondled myself . . . admired myself from all angles.

When I finally got my own room at eighteen I took it to a whole other level. With privacy, I could light candles and make a whole elaborate masturbation ritual out of it. I’d put music on the stereo I bought myself, one component at a time from Crutchfield, and stand in front of my white mirrored dresser (an antique handed down to me from my mom) rifling through my panty drawer and meager selection of “sexy” stuff.

I almost always wound up pulling on a hot little ivory Christian Dior thong: lace in the back and satin in front with, again, a sweet dip down in the front punctuated with a tiny circle of faux-pearls. Then I’d have to choose between my two pairs of elbow-length gloves: white satin or white lace. You have no idea how much gloves turn me on. It’s not so much the wearing them (though I do like that, too), but looking at them on someone else.

So I would look at myself in the mirror but from a vast distance. I so wanted my gloved hands to be like other teenaged girls’ gloved hands: hot, with the satin stretched TIGHT and their soft, fleshy girl hands emanating sweaty uncomfortable heat. The other girls didn’t like to wear gloves, but FUCK I *loved* them and I wanted to be able to squeeze their hands and never let them go and stroke up and down their arms with my own satin gloves, or bare-handed, and have them squeeze me ALL OVER. Hot, fat, filled-out shiny satin arms and fingers over rustling dresses.

Anyway, my hands never looked that sexy in gloves — they looked thin and insubstantial like flat playing cards. But my arms looked delicious with the satin pushed down just enough to make wrinkles. In addition to being extremely turned on by gloves, I’m also extremely turned on by tight, wrinkled fabrics on long, slender girl arms or legs. Or fat girl arms or legs. WHATEVER. Point is, I still got very, very excited putting on my gloves and admiring myself in the candlelight.

I often switched back and forth between the two pairs of gloves. The lace ones reminded me of the Billy Idol White Wedding video and THAT brought to mind long-festering taboo fantasies of someone who looked (to me) just like him, but better . . . and worse. Rebel Yell, Eyes Without a Face, Sweet Sixteen, White Wedding, Dancing with Myself . . . yeah. Billy Idol fetish planted when I was way too little and he was way too recognizable for me to think it was silly or to resist it or analyze it.

Not that I thought about him when I masturbated. Not very much anyway. I mean, it would only have taken a few seconds of thought allowed to stray in that direction. What I would do, though, in the buildup, is I would arrange the candles in such a way that my shadow was projected on the wall. I’d inflate my chest to highlight a profile of my breast, then I’d have my hand come at it from an unnatural direction, like my boob belonged to someone else. I’d reach in and trace the silhouette of my breast. I’d pull away and reach back to touch and fondle it, over and over again, spying on this other person’s boob being teased and stroked. It’s always been WATCHING my breasts being touched that really initially arouses me. Without watching the hands on my boobs, the sensation of having my breasts touched is actually pretty boring a lot of the time.

I’d mount the corner of my mattress then, again with the candles arranged so I could spy on my shadow, and hump the edge of my bed until I came, over and over again. Sometimes I could just drag myself against the flat of my mattress and that would work, too. I’d watch the shadow of my boob hovering there, and dip myself down to make my nipple touch the mattress. It wasn’t part of the position that made me come, but the sight of that woman’s body touching and being touched made me very excited.

At that age I did feel lonely and wish I could do some of these things with a guy (which kind of doesn’t even make sense when I think about it). More than that, though, I felt a sense of loss that I was young and the only person who was admiring my body. I did feel very strongly that it should be worshipped and felt like the time to do that, the ripe teenaged time, would be over before anyone did.

Many times I felt like someone was standing outside spying on me. I even felt like I could hear them. But I tried to tell myself I was being paranoid and not to worry about it, because every time I tried to catch them, there was no one there.

As it turned out, of course there WAS someone there. Many different people at different times. Everyone from the guy I lost my virginity to, to the village idiot, to the felon who supplied the highest cop with pot (at least, that’s what we figured when we did eventually catch him outside my window and the cop said it was no big deal — he was just standing on cinder blocks he’d stacked up to peer through my blinds “to get high”). It was horribly embarrassing to think about, so I tried not to because there was nothing I could do about it. They’d already seen everything (even more than the masturbating) and knew all of my secrets. Except for the Billy Idol guy that was only in my head. I mean, they knew him too, but not that I thought about him that way.

*****

If I could go back I would nail up a billion blankets over those crappy fucking blinds. I would find a way to make it fair, to make myself paid and worshiped. For me to be the one in control. I know that because of the other things they saw me do, I was like a weird freak show to them, but they were total fucking freaks too and somehow that means I have a weird bond with them for the rest of my life.

I can still remember one of them, the one I had sex with, laughing at me when I was humping his leg without me knowing why he was laughing except that I guessed I was doing everything wrong, even though that was what was going to make me come. It wasn’t until later that I realized he was one of them and all the things he saw. It makes no sense how humiliated I still feel remembering him mocking me when I know now what a dangerously fucked-up individual he was/is. He had such an unfair advantage over me, but he probably thought the same thing of me just by default since he couldn’t last more than twelve pumps. Which of course I actually enjoyed, or WOULD HAVE enjoyed if he’d have gone again. But he never did. Of course, he DID go down on me, but I totally didn’t get that — it was such a foreign sensation that I’d never planned for even though I’d masturbated so often to images of other women’s pussies being licked. I don’t think I understood that I was more interested in going down on chicks than having anyone go down on me.

When I was young, the only true pleasure I experienced on my own terms was by myself. I guess I wish I would have accepted that, made myself more powerful (both physically and . . . spiritually?), and found the confidence and the people to negotiate those terms for myself. I know it’s shallow, but now that I’m older and I can see my body starting to disintegrate and loosen into loose flesh and little balls of fat and poison, I wish I would have ran as fast as I could for miles and taken dance classes and learned how to stretch and spent many many MORE hours in front of not just one mirror, but a fucking roomful of mirrors.

I wish I’d have known about getting paid to stomp on men. I wish I’d have had sex with women sooner. Like that hot Belgian pharmacist with the leather skirt I worked with.

SO MANY MISSED OPPORTUNITIES.

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 masturbate differently in webcam shows for a large group than I do for myself or for private shows.

During group camshows I have a whole hour to draw out the experience. I put on a little makeup and usually wear something that allows me to do upskirts – little nighties, slips, miniskirts, etc. If I have enough time, I love wearing hosiery, especially opaque thigh high socks which is what I wore today: long, tight, stretchy, dark brown socks under a hippy-style sundress with a smocked top which is great for showing off my cleavage and tits.

Because I’m not being paid by the minute to fulfill requests by viewers, the “action” in my group shows is aimed to please me (and, incidentally, other people who have my particular tastes), all slowly paced to fill out the hour. I’m not super-entertaining, I just slide into a groove and enjoy looking at myself doing things I wouldn’t otherwise do: smiling at myself in the camera, and just making myself do shit that makes me hot, like exposing myself in taunting, mostly-softcore ways. I get very mesmerized by myself, like when I show myself (and everybody else) my creamy thighs parting to expose my hairy cunt with that beautiful contrast of the dark socks. I don’t know what it is about that contrast, but it’s fucking irresistible to me. I can watch myself do that over and over again.

We had more time than usual between shows this month so it’s been about three weeks since I enjoyed one of these long sessions; doing these long shows every other week or every three weeks is perfect for me because, without knowing it, I really build up a desire for them. My clit’s had a break from extended time with the hitachi magic wand and it’s been awhile since I really took a good look at myself.

Today I decided not to shower, putting my dirty hair in pigtails instead. It’s been four or five days since I had a shower and maybe only two baths (last night and some other time) during that time. For three days I wore the same pair of sticky, hot-smelling panties. My bush is getting really filled-out again, and every time I go to the bathroom I sniff the crotch of my underwear and play with my cowlicks that come together and curl up where my lips meet. The musky smell of pussy-hair steeped in cunt-sweat is part of what I love about not shaving.

Anyway, it smelled so good today during my show, I just kept petting it and bringing my hand up to inhale, over and over again. Deep breaths, totally drugging myself on that woman-sex smell of myself. I fucking could not get enough of it, smelling it, and watching me on the monitor, stroking myself with my light-pink clit poking out between my dirty-blonde fur and those SOCKS pulled up on my thighs making everything in the middle look so fucking naked and whorey.

I remember the first time I ever rode on Highway 1 through Big Sur, not being able to get enough of that hot sage smell. It doesn’t smell like pussy exactly, but it’s addictive and elevating, like ascending to heaven and being on some other unearthly level in between the ground and meeting God’s secretary while He’s away. I feel the same way about the smell of my musky bush, like if I were to immerse myself in it far enough I would wind up in some other place of knowledge and luxury and a decadent form of peace.

Today while I inhaled I realized the scent on my fingers reminded me a whole lot of crayola crayon wrappers. Not exactly like that, but similar. I always wonder where that Really Perfect Pussy smell comes from, like what the secret recipe is for it to be that perfect all of the time. Was it steeping my hair in dirty underwear so long? Was it the hot apple cider and cashews we had before bed? Was it the flax seed and evening primrose oil? Was it having PMS? Was it the mingling of a favorite lotion with the cunt smell to create a perfect pussy-church combo?

I came three times today with one of the orgasms augmented considerably by the call and response of me being ridiculously horny for myself and crooning, “oh yeah” to myself right before Jimi Hendrix said “oh yeah” at the beginning of Red House. Then . . . brilliant guitar and that was all she wrote.

*****

Right after my show I still felt a little hypnotized. I took a powerful piss, then stumbled into the bedroom where I felt a hot gush of liquid burst through my cunt. I reached down to touch it and came out with beautiful, crimson blood all over my fingers with more than enough left over to streak down my right thigh. I haven’t had such a dramatic start to my period in years.

Was it watching “ladies” figure skating last night that got me all horny? I don’t know, but I couldn’t sleep and tried to masturbate quietly enough not to wake up Delia, but since I was wearing earplugs myself I couldn’t really tell if I was making noise or not.

The train of thoughts leading there seemed to pick up where my post about tribute jack-offs left off. I started imagining a teenager playing Yahtzee and then trying to decide which girl’s face to ejaculate on in his yearbook. Then there was something about a good dog and a bad dog (I think it was a white German Shepherd) and by that time I was so worked up I took out my earplugs and asked Delia if she was awake. AND SHE TOTALLY WAS! I still don’t know if she knew I was masturbating, but I stopped at that point anyway.

To reach over and fondle her boobs. I really should write a whole blog entry (or book) about Delia’s New Boobs. They’re pointy and swollen and puffy and my right hand goes back and forth from one to the other until I start using my mouth.

I’d love to tell you all about it but I honestly don’t feel like getting all worked up again. If you’re one of our members and heard it on the spycams (sorry I forgot to turn on the nightvision last night) then you know it was hot. I was shaking. We fucked and then we spooned.

*****

In other news, I’m agonizing over my hair not being blonde enough. Just the thought of negotiating a redo makes me extremely uncomfortable, but I think it has to be done. Sigh.