Written in the Sand

Last year I committed to spending more time at the beach. AND I DID.

My priorities and my visions of normalcy and success shifted with every minute I spent at the shoreline.

My intention was to continue regular beach visits in 2019 — multiple times every week — but so far this year … I haven’t gone much.

Today I didn’t even want to leave the house. Like most days this month. February is the worst month of winter in Washington (even without the snow that piled up last week); even though the days are getting longer, it’s not nearly enough sunlight after months of reduced daylight hours. It feels like darkness falls way too soon every day.

But I had to get one of Delia’s checks in the bank. It seemed like a waste of gas and putting-on-clothes to turn right back around and go home, so I made myself go to the beach, telling myself that I could just sit in the car and read. Just GO. Just GET there.

And there it was … proof that THE BEACH IS FOR ME, written like a personalized welcome mat:

Without planning it, the tide is often low when I get there. Especially on days like today when I had to ease myself into just the idea of being upright.

Funny coincidence: last night I read a story featuring sandwriting that was also like a personal bridge, but between where I picture the author Emma Donoghue and here in the Pacific Northwest. Starting out reading Slammerkin and The Sealed Letter, she has always seemed SO across-the-pond and decades and centuries ago from where I be, but in Touchy Subjects there she is writing about JESUS and TACOMA and the word COCKSUCKERS in the sand.

So far this book is full of stories I would never have imagined her writing, but I was totally surprised by Room coming from her, too. But maybe she was just making fun of us for that big JESUS CARES ABOUT YOU sign you can see from the freeway that you can imagine was an inspiration for it. It makes me miss Tacoma, actually. Lots of things make me miss Tacoma. But then I go to the beach here and don’t give Tacoma another thought.

Anyhoo … I had very tender feelings for “The Man Who Wrote on Beaches” when I read it last night.

“…he had a home with a view of Puget Sound and a good job and a great collection of German steins and a lot of laughs. Above all, he had Margaret, who was twice what he deserved.”

The older I get and resign myself to being My Authentic Self, I have to accept that even though I’m capitalizing those words like I’m in on the ridiculous joke of myself, I’m honestly NOT joking. I’m earnest and can say with my whole heart that I love The Man Who Wrote on Beaches. With recognition, relief that I haven’t taken it QUITE that far (but only because I got the idea of asking Jesus into my heart out of my system as a teenager), forgiveness … and no measurable amount of irony.

Merry Christmas!

I hope your Christmas is wrapping up on an insanely jolly, cozy note … and that it smells as good as my hair after I laid it on these boughs of fir.

 

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Easter Goodness: Cute AND Cummy!

Last year I painted Delia’s balls like Easter Eggs and took pictures and video of her doing a holiday-appropriate fertility kind of thing, culminating in creamy egg-filling landing on a dandelion.

You know dandelions are edible, right? And so is creamy egg filling! Cum-eating is one of my wife’s specialties. I’d say she does it in over half of her videos, and I think this is the PERFECT time of year to combine cuteness with cumminess!

This year she posted the Easter Bunny picture set; we shared thirty of my favorites over on her blog if you want to see more!

My shadow is not in ANY of those thirty pictures, by the way … but this is definitely my preferred format for making appearances these days: barely visible. Just a hint of Trixie. SHADOW Trixie! Man-behind-the-camera Trixie. Sunshine-on-my-shoulders Trixie.

As the days get longer I do feel more like coming out. More hopeful I’ll feel more visibly radiant one of these days soonish.

Staying off of social media helps. Easter is actually the one day I specifically resolved a few years ago to never look at what other people are saying or doing. I may not need to do anything to celebrate Easter myself, but I do find a lot of joy in a wide variety of Easter stories, rituals, traditions, etc. Including the story of the resurrection of Jesus.

While I appreciate and understand criticisms of Christianity — like how paganism was co-opted, perverted, criminalized and lethally punished by Christians, and Easter is a particularly good example of that — I’m still fed by some of those stories I grew up with. When you’re a kid, those things are real and bible stories are some of the first paranormal stories you hear and see PICTURES with rays of sunshine breaking out in all kinds of tragic places. The image of the stone being rolled away and the mystery and hope of his body being gone, and of him appearing to people who loved him afterwards are beautiful stories that most people need in one form or another.

While the Christian stories are understandably stupid and/or too inextricably tied to ugliness and horror for many people (and nobody should be forced to honor or respect what is just pure scary bullshit to them), some of us still love simple aspects of those stories and want to bask in the rapture of them. The stuff that old songs are about that have made people throw their heads back and arms into the air for centuries, craving love and relief and for magic to be real, or at least to suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the stories that tell us they are so. It just feels more powerful when you participate in it with your voice and body.

On Easter I don’t want to be around or listen to people who tell me not to fuck outside like rabbits or not to believe in Jesus. Neither one of those peoples do I want to listen to so much, or share my voice or body or suspension of disbelief with. Which is part of why I’m being invisible a lot lately. And it is good.

 

Woods Walk: Week 6

Fulfilled: promise to myself to walk in the woods weekly (at least).
Even though I haven’t been blogging these walks right away, I’ve been doing them … and feel happier because of it. Super happy to have gotten this one promise to my body fulfilled early this week / today. It’s been a long time since I visited this favorite local park for woods-walking.

These paths — especially where they are narrower with lots of roots, hairpins and other obstacles to navigate (not pictured here) — make me want to run run run run RUN.

I ran a little bit. Even though I felt clunky and ran out of steam fast, my body still remembered how to do it and reminded me how fast rhythm and euphoria can be mine. All mine at my own varying, self-pleasing, self-pushing pace.

It doesn’t feel like winter. It feels like spring with a very depressed sun that wants to stay under the covers and sleep a lot.

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Woods and Water: Week 4

I squeezed in a combo woods-and-saltwater walk before this week ended!

Yup – that deer was only a few feet away from me when I lumbered down the trail. I should’ve done more to scare it instead of taking a picture, but they’re so habituated to humans here it’s a lost cause.

Bluff and beach erosion are problems here (especially for people with houses built on them). I definitely worry more about rocks and earth and trees sliding down on me when I’m walking the beach than I do about tsunamis. We had a Tsunami warning in the middle of the night a few bedtimes back, but we kind of laughed it off. This time.

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Woods & Water: Week 1

As mentioned in my previous post, this year I’m building and reinforcing my value system with three different practice-and-blog series. That post focuses on values about cleanliness by practicing and showing off nail grooming. The second post and series I’m kicking off here revolves around BEING OUTSIDE. Specifically in the woods and by the water, at least once a week each (and specifically SALTwater).

So on the 6th day of January, because I made this commitment to myself (so I can feel proud of my follow-through instead of like a beach bum slacker? see also: puritanical values about work), I dropped everything else and went to the beach:

 

Normally I’d avoid the beach on a Saturday (because normally I avoid people, and normally beach + Saturday afternoon = people), but because it’s winter and it was probably going to rain, there were hardly any people at all!

So I didn’t have to figure out how to interact with anybody except fog and rain and sand and space and day meeting darkness and feet hitting ground … and that is my happy place.

So what does this have to do with values? Well … I value: my body | fresh air | sweating | taking the temperature with my skin | working to LIVE | sunlight | LIVING TO LIVE | telling time by tides and shadows | free self-health-care as valuable “work”, more valuable than any desk work | connecting with what is REAL under my feet | my exceptionally good fortune in living in this time and place out of all of the times and places humans have existed | solitude | the colors green the colors brown the colors grey the colors colors colors blue yellow brown green green green green NIGHT | the enormity of sky | seasons | my freedom | my ability to exercise my freedom and to choose what is healthy(iest) | having a platform to celebrate and serve what I value and what sustains life | bunches of other good shit like just BEING ALIVE

Basically: I AM SUPER FUCKING LUCKY I CAN WALK ON THE BEACH EVERY DAY. Whenever I want. And very often have it all to myself: way more quiet, peace, and solitude than the vast majority of people on this planet have access to.

I value quiet, peace and solitude. And huge bodies of saltwater. I feel some kind of a huge moral ethical human spiritual obligation / necessity to feed on my good fortune and revel in the pleasure, nutrition and healing it gives me to be out there, in what little there is left for however long it and I linger.

 

 

The time & weather when I started my walk, and when I ended it:

winter weather in port touchdown

For that first week of January I did my woods and water walk all in one outing, hiking up the hill from the beach as it got dark. The trail was steep, slippery, and getting harder and harder to see, but I wanted to be speedy to cover as much ground before it got totally dark; this was a fun extra-sensory challenge to really focus on FEELING my footing, being aware of every step and seeing with the soles of my feet.

drainpipe near dusk

This wet walk alone up an eroding hill intensified my appreciation of the book I’m reading (It), remembering what it’s like to be a kid roaming around outside relishing freedom, suffering from fear, and just being alive outside with your heart beating fast.

Didn’t your values seem a lot clearer when you were a kid than they do as an adult? I want to be as clear as a childabout the value and rightness of certain things. Like mud puddles.

twilight alone

Being outside alone while it got darker and wetter and darker I felt more and more like myself, and giddy about it.

In some ways I’m not even sure what this word “values” means and how to talk about them meaningfully or accurately (is that possible?). But the darker it got and the more sure I knew where I was and how to get somewhere else, the more I remembered who I am and felt happy about the rightness and certainty of it: I’m a night person who loves being alone in my body outside.

I would rather listen to water dripping off of different things onto different surfaces than people talking words. Part of valuing these things – night, solitude, rain, outside, wet sounds – is valuing myself for being the kind of person who runs sopping wet through the dark alone in winter.

Note on blocking out part of our hometown name: it’s not a secret on our sites, but I don’t want to make it THAT easy for no good reason. Plus it’s more fun for you to read if it’s a blank you can fill in with your own idea of a perfect place to live!

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