I know what I’m supposed to be doing now, but I’m still too afraid to really do it.
So I keep doing things I should let go of, because I think they look like REAL WORK to other people, and are more defensible (if I fail, which of course I will if I’m not doing The Right Things … then again, they’re all kinda right things, and all vulnerable to someone saying they’re wrong … so I should stop working so hard at identifying right and wrong and just identify WORK and HOURS WORKING and WHAT FEELS GOOD).
dark moon :: pink cheeks :: big boobs
Headed in the right direction: I’m super happy to recommit myself to a set (yet flexible as-needed) swing-shift schedule. Balancing the freedom of working for myself at home with some STRUCTURE (that I really need and provides its own freedoms) is a struggle, but today felt super NATURAL for me, blocking out 2pm to 10:30 for work. Of course I started early. And I’m finishing late. And I worked on stupid things I should be paying somebody else to do. But hey … I wanted to end my day on BOOBS, not bills, so here they are!
2-10:30 tomorrow I’m going to work. On the “right” things. And not be afraid. The morning and daylight when other people at work is ALL MINE. And midnight is ALL MINE. And I’m going to be in love with all of them.
Look how small my arm looks compared to my big old boob!
Delia made an “emergency” trip home yesterday because of this:
The day before (test strips 1 & 2) I had the thick clear egg-white-like goo, but I drank a lot of water so maybe the tests looked blank because of that. Then yesterday I had pinchy cramps on my left side and stuff.
Because of my tipped uterus & the way my cervix points up, this position actually isn’t good for me to try to conceive (having hips THIS elevated actually isn’t optimal for anybody), but I did it just for fun and because it felt good after already spending a long time in other positions trying to bathe my cervix in semen.
dimly lit creampie
The other (optimal) positions were: on all fours (with Delia continuing to fuck me from behind for a long time after she came), on my belly, on my belly with a pillow under my hips.
She wants to do it again today. It’s pretty interesting, her getting more testosterone back after this many years blocking it.
We’re having a super happy time today. We slept, we stretched, we prayed, we planned, we’ve done some work and we’ll do some more. We’re listening to jazzy Christmas tunes while I do dishes and she cooks scrambled eggs and bacon for lunch. It’s raining and after we eat we’re going to go run around in the shadowy wet winter woods.
After I came twice yesterday fucking my wife, Delia:
She didn’t come, and was fine with it!
Over the twelve+ years we’ve been together, it’s pretty rare that we don’t both come. We’re totally cool with NOT coming most of the time, but in practice with each other we’re really compatible and lucky and usually come together.
Over the years, I probably have only not had an orgasm less than a dozen times when having sex with her. She’s actually gone without more times than I have.
I actually kind of like it when I have my fill, inquire whether or not she came, she says “no”, I ask if she wants to, and she says “nah . . . I’m good!” I understand that feeling of having a nice time and just enjoying experiencing your partner’s orgasm(s) without the distraction of coming yourself. Of course, Delia also has the added pressure of having to ration out her cum for work (masturbating live on cam and shooting porn, etc.) so I think sometimes it’s handy for her to save her load for that.
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Hi. My name is Trixie!
You might perceive this as my condescending face . . .
. . . but really it is my “I have chocolate on my shirt” exasperated-with-myself face.
I have thick glasses . . . and big natural boobs!
Some people like my boobs and even think I am a nice lady.
They give my boobs one thumb up . . .
. . . sometimes two thumbs up, but most individuals only have one (cough) “thumb”.
You might think this face is reserved for corny heard-it-all-before penis euphemisms . . .
. . . but I don’t mind that so much. This is actually how I feel when people give me compliments. I have to try not to look that way, instead being gracious and self-confident rather than off-putting and strange.
It’s important to be a nice lady when you’re sort of just a regular average-to-comical-looking person making money with your boobs and stuff on the internet. Make people feel happy and good. That means smiling in a genuine fashion and being relaxed and not hurrying from one expression to another. It also means making pictures brighter and saturated with fleshy warm colors. But I don’t always have time for that (like today), or for being a nice relaxed simple booby lady with no complaints or complications. Or ghastly wrinkles on her neck (chocolate on shirt helps draw eye away from crepey turkey wattles . . . but not as much as boobs / not wearing a shirt at all).
I don’t really believe I’m that much of a lady. It’s all a bullshit charade (and boobs).
Okay, it’s not ALL a bullshit charade. But a lot of it is an illusion.
posture head-tilts self-censoring shiny blonde (fake) hair BOOBS eagerness-to-please responsive facials & head nods raised eyebrows tiny smirks omg this is exhausting pretty little dresses fortunately I don’t have to work at loving cock
My teeth are crooked! I think crooked teeth are cute: charming, disarming and natural.
When we show our crooked teeth that makes you feel like you can trust us and we could never ever hurt you. We’re goofy! Shy! Quick to roll over and show our bellies! But if you really look at any still version of a smile it’s just a scary grimace of bared teeth.
Today on the train I looked down at a really pretty lady driving in her car and she looked up at me and our eyes locked and I immediately uncontrollably blushed and smiled/grimaced. And she smiled back (with straight teeth and lipstick) and it made me so happy that I don’t care if any of it is fake or scared monkey business.
I don’t know how she kept driving straight without crashing, it felt like she looked at me that long; it was like an old movie (or Pulp Fiction) where the people don’t have to look at the road and they’re just very beautiful and the cars drive themselves while they engage with their passengers. I guess I was like the poor girl on the train in the movie who the pretty lady decides is the one she can seduce into killing her husband for insurance money, promising me we’ll make off for Mexico and live happily ever after in the sun eating tortillas with butter made from goat milk. Except I failed to fact check whether goat milk butter is any good or a suitable product for home-making and for the rest of my life in prison I have nightmare visions of rancid goat butter escalating into a severed goat head on a platter with those gross cooked goat eyeballs gleaming death at me.
The pretty lady was like a cross between Sofia Vergara and Tousled Elegance. And she didn’t seem at all like a film noir femme fatale . . . her smile was so pretty I felt like I didn’t even deserve to have her spend that much time looking at me. Which is exactly why if she’d been wearing a trench coat waiting for me at the train station I would have gone with her and done ANYTHING SHE WANTED. The muscles in her face and neck were so naturally relaxed, she couldn’t possibly do me or anybody any harm.