TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘thanksgiving’ Category

Here are a couple of boobie pics to make up for the lack of happy stimulation in my posts lately:

Mature Hourglass Figure

I know, I look CRAZY in the eyes, but I love the way that angle makes my shape look so hourglassy! These pics are from my two most recent members-only updates, fyi.

My bumpy boobies in black & white!

There are more free samples at TrixieAndFriends.com and perhaps some other non-nude stimulation you’ve missed on my twitpic page (and my new sexypeek feed) but obviously(?) if you want ALL of my goodies, you should  join/become a member!

*****

In other news it’s been a busy week and we wrapped it up perfectly with shows and members-only chat yesterday and today. I started getting a migraine last night during my show which was the perfect opportunity to beg Delia to fix me some coffee which I avoid like the plague except when I need the caffeine to stave off a big whopper of a headache. SO DELICIOUS, though. I love the flavor of sweetened, creamy coffee! And it was because of that, my friends, that I was able to concentrate on that blog post I made last night about porn being consumed in public places.

Today I’ll be lucky if I get a couple of emails written/sent that need to go out; I didn’t get enough sleep so might need a nap, then we’re spending the evening at a really huge Thanksgiving potluck celebration that’s very special to us. I have a good kind of PMS right now and think I might bawl rivers of gratitude.

Today marks one of those milestone birthdays for Delia and I wish I could smother her with everything and more than she could possibly ever want:

To the cutest girl in the world: happy birthday, honey!

At the top of her list of desires? BOOBS!

Delia has hormone titties but wants bigger boobies!

After shooting this set of pictures I had one of those moments I *often* have after taking pictures of her of being completely BOGGLED as to her site hasn’t become world famous and made her rich. Seriously — how can you look at her and not think she should be sitting in piles of cash?!? Not that she even wants that — she’s not really into material stuff, but it torments me that all the money she makes on her site and all but a few of our other checks are made out to me to the point where when we filed our taxes she made so little that I was able to claim her as my dependent (we’re not married, but as we discovered this year, I could claim I’m head of household and she’s my live-in sugar baby or whatever “as long as the relationship is not illegal”).

All of that would be fine if we had any spending money, but no — everything of significance goes to running our sites, paying credit cards, trying to pay taxes, and the usual rent and utilities.

I have no diamond ring for Delia, no trip to Disneyland, no little red Corvette in the driveway with a bow . . . and no new boobs. And this all makes me very sad because I am a sugar daddy at heart and totally want to spoil her.

A few awesome things I’ve done/felt today:

*walked through a quiet art gallery and had time to stroke an inlaid wood table decorated with shiny, randomly-inset little nailheads of different sizes and metals.

*bought some favorite usually-overpriced tomatillo salsa on sale which I’m eating right now. Thick green stews and salsas always feel like delicious magical potions to me.

*enjoyed Delia’s preview of some of the pics I shot of her recently for her Fall Flower Fairy gallery.

*woke up without a headache after having one for five solid days (don’t feel sorry for me; I made some bad choices with food, how I mishandled stress, and delayed getting my B vitamin shots).

*bought myself little foil star stickers. To reward myself for finishing items on my to-do lists. This is not as childish as it may sound, and I really love shiny little stars in red, blue, silver, green and gold.

*had two awesome poops

*am wearing my octopus necklace, handcrafted by a local artisan

*scoped out / walked through a really cool coffee shop. Even though I’m not a coffee shop kind of gal, I love knowing there’s one I might actually enjoy sitting in if I ever decide I want to. The kind where there’s plenty of space between plenty of armchairs and darkness and both good coffee-n-pastry aromas plus dank book smells. The kind where, I hope, no one would talk to me. Of course, that desire for solitude didn’t deter me from fantasizing VIVIDLY about seeing a hairy man I fancy and wordlessly tangling into each other and fucking in one of the fairy-lit corridors there.

*survived and almost enjoyed capturing & editing my masturbation video that I’ll post for members tonight: tidied and put away a multitude of things while each of four files were encoded. Enjoyed afore-mentioned tidying.

*Fondled silky lingerie in a little independent shop downtown.

*Picked out striking, large, dramatic pieces of jewelry I’d buy for Delia if I had money to.

*Looked in two shops for crock pots. Neither place had one.

*Didn’t really waste as much time as  you think doing all of these things because I was alone, undisturbed, and easily able to soak up and get my fill of each stimulating little experience.

The best part is I think we might fuck tonight. IT’S BEEN WAY TOO LONG. I need to write a little something about how much of our lives revolve around cum-rationing. And how someday we’ll fuck hairy men in fairy-lit corridors and never want for extra cum again.

I tossed and turned for hours last night and eventually got really aroused so I woke Delia up slowly by playing with her nipples, first over her shirt and then under her shirt. Then I rearranged her arm, spreading it out along my pillow so I could nestle against her and start sucking her tits, moving my hand down to play with her cock (which I eventually sucked too, but just a little because mostly I wanted to fuck her).

Almost every single doorknob in this house is busted or only half-works, including the one to our bedroom. With the windows open in the house all night to keep us cool in the warm weather, our bedroom door gets sucked open and slammed shut. Last night a phantom breeze opened so I let it stay that way even though my mom was asleep in our guestroom down the hall. I knew she wouldn’t wake up, but still tried to be quiet. For once it was Delia instead of me who couldn’t be quiet. Her boobs are SO sensitive.

Sometimes when I can’t make noise during sex it sucks, and other times it allows me to focus even more on the sensations I’m feeling. Like last night when I came. Hard, clamping down. And then made Delia come inside me.

I still couldn’t fall asleep so I sort of meditated on the feeling of stickiness where my ass cheeks meet my thighs and smelling my pussy and her semen all mixed together on my fingers. Eventually I turned on my booklight and looked at my fingertips shining from the moisture reflecting the blue light.

*****

We had a really nice visit with my mom who drove all the way out here spontaneously to spend a couple of days with us. It worked out well without any other family here and with the weather nice enough to get out of the house. My mom needs to have activities and I guess so do I when we’re together because otherwise all of the chatting winds up getting to me. We tired her out with a long walk and before that I took out an instructional stretch DVD, one that I’ve given her a copy of along with a yoga mat but that she never uses (I used to call her every day to ask her if she’d done it, but it didn’t help her and just seemed to make her feel guilty). I worry about her lack of flexibility because she’s getting older, but mostly because I know how much better *I* feel when I spend even a little bit of time stretching on a regular basis. I wanted her to see how easy it is just to do five minutes of it without going all crazy and still get something positive out of it.

Later we got on the subject of Bea Arthur dying and my mom started crying. My mom is now the same age as the characters were on The Golden Girls. She said it seems like it was just yesterday that show was on and now Dorothy and Sophia are dead. She said it made her realize how little time she might have left — what a small window of opportunity she has. My hypersexed mom even admits that now she sometimes gets sick of her boyfriend wanting to have as much sex as he does.

I don’t know if it was because of that in part or in whole, but last night my body felt powerful and I felt younger than I have in a long time. I felt supple and juicy and ripe and full of energy. I felt like my body was tall and everything was in line. My breasts felt big and ripe and heavy and swinging. I felt like an hourglass with the top and the bottom perfectly balanced. I actually felt graceful instead of unwieldy when I climbed on top of Delia. I felt potent and came fast without getting out of breath.

I was still awake later while they were asleep. I crept around the house. I made something to eat in the kitchen. I looked at the moon mostly hidden behind the clouds and a bright planet that must have been Jupiter sparkling to the east of it.

I’m like my mom in a million ways, but unlike her in a million others. Mainly I am just younger than she is. I guess it should be hard to see my mom struggling with her own life changes and not knowing where she’s going — it IS hard — but I also can’t help celebrating, first that she seems more focused on one important thing instead of a million trivial distractions from the one thing and second, celebrating myself and where I am and what I have and all that I still have to look forward to. That my mom has challenges, but she STILL has a lot of opportunity and a lot of growth and good health to enjoy and grapple with (and I have all of that to look forward to also — but MORE of it). That she is better off than her mom is and was at her age. And that I’m so so SO much better off than either of them were when they were mine. Inside and outside and in every conceivable way. And that makes my life and my body and where and how I’m living them feel like a huge evolving miracle that I have a RESPONSIBILITY to celebrate partially on their behalf, fucking and walking and dancing.

*****

Tonight and tomorrow we have webcam shows and members-only chat scheduled.

I’m not good at remembering dates or making a big deal out of birthdays, anniversaries, etc. but here are a few of the ones I feel excited about:

DeliaCD.com – Five Years
February marked the fifth anniversary of Delia’s website opening up for business. I can still remember the day when she got all serious and wanted to have a “talk”. I was so afraid she was going to say she wanted to quit doing all of the porn stuff, so I was overjoyed to hear the complete opposite: that she wanted to quit her straight job and JUST do the porn stuff. Now her site is the most popular one we have and I’m semi-officially one of those husband-pimp-webmasters I used to talk smack about years ago.

The Wandering WebWhore (This Blog) – Eight Years
Yup — tomorrow. At this moment I don’t particularly want to read those early posts and “see how far I’ve come”; some of those posts make me really sick of myself, but I think the dudes liked it better then.

I should make an anniversary for how many years it’s been since this blog “design”/layout/links/etc. has been out of date. {{{{shudder}}}}

Delia and I – Seven Years
Just over seven years ago I met my sissy houseboy aka twat aka Tucker aka Delia. By September of 2002 we were moving in together.

After sitting here for five minutes I can only say that any words I could plaster up on the internet about our life together — what it’s been, what it is, and what it’s becoming — would trivialize what she and our relationship mean to me.

It’s hard for me to explain how I can be so public about something and so fanatically private about it at the same time. People can spy on us together at home, hear us telling each other we love each other, watch videos of us fucking, and read our journals and intimate details of our relationship but the big rock solid truths of what connects us to each other aren’t things I can (or want to) put into words for other people or even for ourselves.

That’s when the years stacking up (and the way I want them to KEEP stacking up) bear more witness than I can with my own blah-blah-blah.

Seven years and counting . . .

Yesterday we did a bunch of housecleaning with special attention on two of our most important rooms: our bedroom and the parlor where we do all of our indoor-exercising and sun-catching. After a week of smelling not-so-fresh places (the thrift stores, our van, the smokey-smelling motel room with the “no smoking” sign) it feels so good to be able to walk through our house and have it smell like lavender and other fresh things.

All I want to do is walk around in our house, picking stuff up, folding laundry, stretching, lighting candles, and daydreaming. That’s not all I *have* done, but that’s how I feel. Like right now I want to take a small container of polished rocks into bed and just pass them back and forth with Delia, inspecting their colors and feeling their contours, holding them up to lamplight, listening to dorky new age music.

I feel great. Maybe it’s the four anti-inflammatories I took for my period cramps today. I don’t know. But it’s pretty fucking rad. Maybe it was the sunshine we had the past couple of days and the exercise we got with it shining on us. Maybe it was being able to get work done even while I had to spend time on hold with the phone company. Maybe it’s all of the clarifying and focusing I’ve been doing lately.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think maybe I’d been hitting one of these sweet pussy pipes too hard. Or not. Since 40% of the few times I’ve smoked it’s given me major anxiety attacks. Yes, few enough that I could count each of them and calculate the percentage. And right now I feel nothing but peace.

After the gloomy pictures and tone of this post I’m overdue posting something cheerful that reflects how I’m feeling A BILLION TIMES BETTER, so here are some happy pictures from a recent members-only gallery and an update on what’s going on in my body and head.

It’s hard for me to describe how profoundly different/healed I felt within a week of starting to treat my hormone problems. I can only compare it to what born again Christians feel like. Seriously. Only I feel like I just established a close personal relationship with NORMALCY rather than with Jesus. And now I am wondering how the fuck I was even getting out of bed at all, because I was really REALLY sick.

A lot of stuff that I was experiencing I couldn’t even verbalize without sounding totally crazy and was effecting me on every level you can possibly think of: mentally, spiritually, physically, socially, sexually, etc. My muscles, joints, head, eyes, guts, boobs, feet, jaw, ears HURT and weren’t working right. Pretty much everything was causing me pain and fatigue, from the sound of people’s voices to the loud conversations being held in my head to the TORTURE of dropping something and having to go through the agonizing, soul-sucking motion of bending over to pick it up. I thought I was being a hypochondriac to worry that I had lupus or something horrifying going on. All I wanted to do was work and be happy and do the millions of things I want to do, so I tried to exercise more, to cut back on things that were especially tiring (which got to the point of being EVERYTHING except the bare minimum — I haven’t been seeing my family, friends, or doing anything except trying to survive). The slightest annoyances were sending me into paroxysms of mean-spirited anguish. If you think I was complaining a lot about headaches and stuff, you don’t know the tenth of it. I actually didn’t even want to recognize how incredibly bad it was.

But then last week I started to feel INCREDIBLY GOOD. Like I looked in the mirror and didn’t see death warmed over staring back at me — oh yeah, THAT’S what I look like without a sickly pallor and giant, deep, dark circles rimming my eyes! Like, getting out of bed in the morning IS EASY and something to celebrate instead of something that caused me physical pain. I’m not exaggerating, I had been feeling PAIN reverberating through every fiber of my being. I thought it was just me being not-a-morning-person, “sensitive”, etc. but as it turns out? FUCK NO. The first three days of feeling awesome last week are my new standard for how I should feel 99% of the time and I’m not going to accept anything less ever again.

Here are the supplements I started taking:

*Evening Primrose Oil
*iodine
*birth control (chick hormones)
*omega oils
*potassium (in grapefruit juice, etc.)
*awesome Vitamin B complex
*digestive enzymes

and changes I made:

*maintaining a stable blood sugar level (not letting myself get hungry, eating way less simple carbs/sugars)
*continuing to use tools & learn more for anger management, concentration, calm, etc.
*exercising consistently
*continuing to make 8-9 hours of sleep per night my goal

——–

A lot of these are things I’ve done before that yielded positive results, but I never did them consistently or all at the same time or appreciated the importance of spending the money to stay stocked up on all of the vitamins or understood the big picture of how they were helping me. I still don’t have a thorough grasp of that, but getting as totally fucked up as I was forced me to do a lot of research and over the years a lot of people and circumstances have handed me clues. Like not being able to get pregnant and slowly finding out a whole bunch of possible reasons why not. Like having people tell me over and over and over again to have my thyroid tested. Like having almost no stressors in my life and often doing everything right and trying my fucking hardest and still feeling WORSE instead of better. Like having some really great health care providers in my life and then having to deal with one who was really bad. Like THE INTERNET being an imperfect but still fucking fabulous resources. Like having a trans partner and thinking more about hormones, identity, and the nuances of gender. Like having people tell me I have too much testosterone. Like having my hair stylist tell me I had an unnatural amount of HAIR FALLING OUT OF MY HEAD (ahhh, so it WASN’T my imagination that was noticing my part widening in pictures and on the webcam I have staring down at the top of my head).

I really am sorry for how impatient I’ve been, how easily agitated I’ve been, and for how little time I’ve had for people and issues and projects I care about. Mostly I’m sad that Delia had to live with someone so unpredictable and “touchy”. But I’m really happy for us now that we are both getting ourselves sorted out.

I think this year (or at least the next six months) are going to be a time of simply catching up on time I/we’ve lost personally and financially/professionally. I know I’ve made a lot of posts in the past couple of years about ways I was reorganizing and reprioritizing things, and while many of them were necessary, very few of them were productive or successful because of what I now realize was a significant health problem. I am going to be patient with myself and try to enjoy simply feel good. REALLY good.

I’m not saying my life has been nonstop misery because that’s not true at all — hormones are shifty fuckers so there’ve been lots of highs and lows and near-normalcy, but I’ve likely been suffering from this for most of my post-adolescent life to one degree or another judging from how rarely I ovulated on time or at all; most people would say “judging from how rarely my period was on time”, but I now refuse to refer to on-time periods as the sensible indicator of health when it totally ignores that timely menstruation is reliant on timely ovulation. It’s not that I think ovulation is some holy fucking grail or that every woman should strive for FERTILITY, I just think there’s so much MISSING from (and deceptive about) our language for talking about how our bodies function and how to identify problems and heal them. And you know how women who understand their clits and their g-spots and the rest of their bodies and how they work and where those parts live CAN MAKE THEM OPERATE BETTER and experience more pleasure? I don’t think the rest of our anatomy and functionality is any different. If I understand that high blood sugar and cortisol and stress and testosterone and estrogen suppression and ovulation and concentration and happiness are all linked up and I can visualize those things and better know how to achieve stability there, then I am going to be a happier, better-functioning person.

Personally I’m excited about the discoveries I’m making about myself and feel so fired up about so many things I’m back to my ”
normal” scatterbrained whirlwind of divided attention (and haven’t been taking Ritalin since I started my little regimen above). I’m also really angry and thinking a lot about how most health care providers are totally incompetent and uncaring when it comes to endocrinology (unless it has to do with diabetes) and SUPER COMMON hormone problems. I believe to my core that misogyny is the root of the ignorance and lack of care; people believe and want women to age a certain way, to become dried-up shrews. They believe we’ll complain about anything and are still mostly just hysterical, crazy bitches and that our problems are all psychological. Everyone thinks it’s so “advanced” to treat depression and anxiety as real stand-alone illnesses now that we can throw fucked-up, addictive drugs at when so much depression and anxiety and other mental illness are probably caused by hormonal problems that don’t always originate with (or aren’t limited to) poor brain chemistry or treated best just by addressing them. I’m certainly not suggesting we all go Tom-Cruise-Vitamin-Crazy, I’m just saying that health care professionals aren’t even bothering to test for or treat underlying hormone imbalances, and most people like it that way. It makes a lot of women sicker, not healthier. Just to give you an example, this doctor I went to was ready to put me on anti-depressants, didn’t believe me when I told her I knew the birth control itself would help a lot, and refused to test my thyroid (the most common “thyroid” test done is for TSH — thyroid stimulating hormone — and it doesn’t really test your thyroid gland, it tests your pituitary gland AND the results are months old by the time it reaches your blood). You have to wonder how this woman thinks that anti-depressants are going to cure me of hair loss, weight gain, constipation, lethargy, etc. when you know it will make most of those symptoms WORSE. To her I was just a crazy, miserable bitch demanding a “complicated” explanation for what seemed obvious to her: THAT I’M SIMPLY A CRAZY MISERABLE BITCH.

If we removed the stigma and value judgment from the statement “she’s got hormone problems” we’d lose one of our most precious and reliable punch lines. So many women would feel so much better the world would be turned upside-fucking down. It probably wouldn’t be very good for the sex industry, I imagine, if more middle-aged women felt like a million bucks. Or maybe it would . . . . My sister, a nurse, said she thinks endocrinology is too nuanced for traditional western medicine to deal with and that it’s not a “sexy” field like surgery. I think it’s the opposite. It’s the sexiest field of all. It IS the source of what we think of as sex and gender and for us to really understand it and the role it plays in our lives and how it is the foundation for so much of our identities would pose such a threat to the status quo and to the people we rely upon to make the rest of us feel normal by comparison that it’s just a giant taboo. In generations to come I think it’s transgender and people who defy gender stereotypes and limitations who will force the medical community and other people to understand endocrinology a whole lot better and how hormones can be manipulated to help us lead our best, most authentic and healthiest lives.

Anyway, long post short, I was feeling pretty bad. And now I feel really great. And that makes me really happy. I’m fueling up now for good things to come.

Bloggers and webwhores around the world are making “year in review” posts right now. I’m not very good at instantly recalling and ranking The Most Important Things That Happened Last Year (seriously, I’m not even capable of ordering food in a drive-through — something every other moron in America is MORE than competent at). I do feel really excited about 2009, though. It’s like the past four months have been a slow, gradual process of skill-building, cleaning-up, clarifying and prioritizing to prepare for a great new year/rest-of-my-life.

Before I sum up my too-personal stuff, here’s a picture of me from way back in February of 2002, before my members-only area opened, right around the time I met “my houseboy” before she became Delia:

And photos from a couple of my favorite shoots this year:

Probably the most important thing that happened in 2008 was we both started going to twelve step meetings. If I just said, “the most important thing that happened in 2008 was Delia stopped drinking” it might make more sense to people, but that really isn’t the most important thing that happened. The most important thing for me (and equally important for our relationship) is that when she stopped drinking this time AND started going to meetings, I had to start getting my OWN shit together instead of thinking things were just hard because of her alcoholism. I sort of thought everything was perfect before EXCEPT for her drinking, but the month after she stopped? It totally wasn’t perfect, because I had a complete meltdown. Obviously I know *I* am not perfect and I know a lot of the ways I’m an asshole (and will continue to be no matter how hard I sometimes try to stop being), but I really didn’t have a plan or consistently work towards or ask for any help being a better, happier, healthier, nicer person. Working and worrying about other people (what they’re THINKING, what they’re DOING, what they EXPECT from me, how I think they’re so fucking WRONG/fucked up, etc.) were my top priorities. I didn’t really accept that me being a crazy asshole was/is my absolute biggest problem.

They seem like a simple concepts to apply to life — just worry about your OWN shit, don’t try to control anyone/thing except yourself — but no matter how much I know those things on a rational level, applying them on a daily basis is a struggle and going to meetings helps me with that in a way nothing else ever has before.

Getting back on Ritalin has helped a lot, too. Another thing that’s helping is making exercising a priority — on December 5th I moved “exercising” to the top of my to-do list. I’ve exercised 21 days out of the past 29 (walking, dancing, stretching, DDRing, pilates, etc.). I need to keep reminding myself that my health is a bigger priority than work — that taking care of myself IS my job and the foundation of doing everything else better. And being less of a crazy asshole.

This year when I filed our 2007 taxes (late, in October) I also had to face that we didn’t meet our money goals in 2008; like, our sales were almost exactly the same as in 2007 when my goal was to double it (not as insane as it sounds, especially given our growth rate in years past). It’s not that I’m not thankful — I know that lots of people made LESS money in 2008 than 2007 — but there’s really no excuse for us not to be making more money. Yes, it’s hard. But it’s at the point now where we really NEED to, and that challenge/brink-of-disaster is good for me because it focuses me. I’ve been pushing everything to the sidelines that is not an efficient way of meeting our sales goals and promising myself not to pick those things up again until our goals are met and I can *justify* doing all those extra things and have the *resources* to do them well.

We also tried harder in 2008 to take days off. We didn’t succeed in doing that consistently/regularly, so I should make that a resolution for this year. In general 2008 taught me that I can do more work better by not trying to do so MUCH of it and by working on improving myself.

In between meetings, exercise, Ritalin, fewer goals in my field of vision/better priorities, I felt really good about taking down the 2008 calendar and hanging up 2009. Everything feels like it’s falling into place and I feel more patient about the time that’s taking than I ever have before, and massively excited about the way Delia’s and my relationship with each other is evolving and deepening — our need to spend non-work time with each other and making/hearing music, fucking, laughing, kissing, talking, cleaning house, playing games, etc. is another huge motivator to push other stuff off the table so we can just ENJOY each other.

I am still going to be an asshole in 2009, but I will be a healthier asshole with a more flexible pucker. I know I won’t STOP blowing hot, rank air but I will concentrate on cooling it down and remind myself to focus on cleaning myself up from the inside out to reduce my stench. I will be a more kissable asshole in 2009, and if all goes well perhaps I will be wiping myself with money by the time 2010 rolls around.

Yes, an asshole can dream.

Late last night we fucked while I fondled my new toys: Delia’s growing boobs. I dare you to not be jealous of me for getting to play with emerging, swollen boobies while getting fucked by your girlfriend’s she-cock. Some people might call it convenient. I call it “barely legal”. And myself? I call myself “lucky” because right now she’s making us a Christmas meatloaf. Food and fucking — what more could you ask for on Christmas? Simultaneous orgasms? Well we had those, too.

*****

I love taking pictures of this bird feeder in our backyard at different times of day/year (no, we don’t put bird food in it; it’s a relic left behind by past owners):

Happy holidays to everybody — here’s to celebrating in as many safe, happy, and (mostly) healthy ways as possible with big loads of hot gravy on top!