I’m so excited about the days getting longer! The world (from my perspective) is completely different than the world three months ago.
It’s hard for me to believe I’ve experienced the seasons changing for forty years, and the changes seem MORE profound to me now rather than less. There’s nothing mundane to me about it. It is unbelievable and wonder-full.
One reason the changing of seasons might be more noticeable to me in recent years is that I live in a very different microclimate than where I spent the first parts of my life. We’ve been living in the rainshadow for the past twelve years rather than the valley below the Cascade foothills where I spent the first twenty years of my life or Tacoma where I lived in between then and here. It rains A LOT LESS here. It’s windier, drier and BRIGHTER here.
This was a sweet fucking night. Camera-phone pics do not do it justice . . .
I wasn’t sure at the time if we were visible on the spycams, or if what we were doing was clear, but apparently at least one person watching could see AND suspected Delia’s dick was in my ass. Thanks, nugget!
Smoking makes me a lot more receptive and interested in having people go down on me. Normally I’m much more interested in being the person with her mouth on some genitals (and 69 is usually WAY too distracting/overstimulating for me), but when I’m high I’m prone to wanting to start out with Delia‘s mouth on my pussy or toes . . . or in this case, on all fours with my ass in the air telling her to lick my butthole with her naughty twitchy teasing tongue. She fucking LOVES it!
On the walk Delia and I took today, she took these pictures:
Afterwards we had burgers and fries at our favorite place for that, eating in the WARM car. I think I might have even gotten a sunburn on my face.
While we were there I saw a woman get out of her car with her soft white belly peeking out where her flannel shirt opened up and I wanted to press my hands my cheek my own belly against it. So delicious.
So SO happy. The sun is out … and actually rubbing warmth across my shoulders, neck, back & scalp. pic.twitter.com/jprsxCUWtH
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 10, 2014
I’m standing funny like an alien creature who was just beamed down in a sunray in the picture above; my thighs actually DO touch / I do NOT have a “thigh gap” . . . at least, not anymore.
But I used to. Not because I *wanted* to, but because that’s the way I was built. With skinny fucking legs and arms. I guess I’m one of the “lucky” ones (or at least my peers were) by today’s standards of “you’re not real if you’re skinny” because I grew up thinking being thin was yucky, unattractive, weird, sickly, etc. I grew up being made fun of for it. And not just with friendly ribbing, but with actual SNEERS. Was it as bad as if I’d grown up “fat”? FUCK NO. I’m sure I wasn’t teased or sneered at as much as people of size. But being skinny wasn’t something I aspired to; it was a curse as far as I knew. My mom even took me all the way in to Children’s Orthopedic Hospital when I was in junior high to make sure I wasn’t malnourished or whatever, and made me start drinking weight-gain shakes.
I went to a small school – there were less than a hundred people in my graduating class. In a school that small, it’s pretty easy to be on one or more of the sports teams and actually get to play a lot . . . so the vast majority of your classmates are going to be ATHLETIC. Athletic bodies were the popular norm in my class, especially shorter, stockier bodies. The hardy 4-H types.
I was a teenager in the eighties. I admired all kinds of legs, including my own sometimes in spite of their relative shapelessness. There were no internet thinspo memes. I’d never heard of “thigh gap” and never fucking THOUGHT about it. Until I was maybe sixteen or seventeen, visiting one of my soccer-volleyball-basketball-softball-playing friends.
I must have been wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a halter, and I vividly remember standing on her family’s half-finished deck and her POINTING to my thighs and BURSTING into laughter: OH MY GOD YOUR THIGHS DON’T TOUCH!!
I was like, “what are you talking about?”
YOUR LEGS!! THEY GO ALL THE WAY UP WITHOUT EVER TOUCHING IN THE MIDDLE!!! LOOK!! PUT YOUR KNEES TOGETHER . . . LOOK!!
It was like she wished she could summon every normal person our age to stare at my freakish body.
I don’t remember now if that came before or after she pointed at my belly and laughed at IT, too, telling me how much I needed to do some situps.
To her mind, I think my body represented flaccid nerdy weakness. Not totally off the mark, either. Our boobs were pretty much exactly the same, though.
I don’t think I can say I ever experienced anything qualifying as “bullying”, so I’m not relating this story for anybody to feel sorry for me . . . just talking about legs and stuff. And how even just a little teasing can suck pretty bad. Fortunately I thought her standards of what is and isn’t attractive were extremely narrow and unsophisticated; I remember going to see Indecent Proposal with her when it came out. Of course I said I would have happily taken Robert Redford up on his offer, but she was like, “ewwww gross . . . he’s so old.” What a weirdo.
Do I want thigh gap again? FUCK NO. I do wonder if my experience in my body as a teenager would have been different if I’d have thought I’d been born with something other girls were trying to “achieve”, but I’m pretty sure it would have been mostly-unhealthy for me to grow up with the internet as it is today. I doubt I’d have wasted time trying to perfect my thigh gap, and would have instead opted for meeting “old” dudes who would pay to sniff my panties or something. Who knows, though. I’m just glad I survived those years and did so without the mass media deluge and worldwide pressures people have now.
Want to get an idea of what I looked like as a teenager? JOIN MY SITE and visit this (non-nude, NOT pornographic or sexual) gallery of candid pictures from school dances, etc.
Already experiencing many rewards after my embarrassingly-inelegant yet much-needed exit from Girlfriend-land.
Healthy relaxing time alone, healthy relaxing time with others . . . and getting to freely celebrate surprise news Delia and I just got tonight of an upcoming visit with someone lovely who we have unfinished pleasurable business with, WITHOUT the looming dread of it sparking expressed jealousy and/or tense negotiations and emotional processing with someone else.
It’s kind of like a do-over. AND WE ARE GOING TO DO IT OVER REALLY FUCKING GOOD!
This day was a sad pathetic fucking relief.
I am so fucking lucky: another bullet dodged, but not without shaving some hair off in the process.
If I forget: remind me not to play with guns or loose cannons anymore. Remind me not to BE one.
If the little tastes of yuck I’ve gotten in life feel this gross to me, I don’t know how people deal with the big yucks. I guess they mostly don’t, which is how we wind up here.
Tucked into cabin loft alone, window behind my head open, rain making hundreds of different noises above, around & below me. #happy
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 5, 2014
And less than 2 hours after falling asleep I painfully finally drag myself out of horrible fucking nightmare. I hate my brain sometimes.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) March 5, 2014
The rain that sounded magical and comfortingly enveloping at 3 am turned into the soundtrack for a nightmare over the next two hours. In my sleep I could hear voices outside, knocking, scratching, beating all around and against and underneath my little shelter. I dreamt I woke up and knew the voices belonged to at least one person who was violently mad at me. I got my phone to try to get ready to call for help, but of course my phone was sluggish and unresponsive. And then his punishing arms reached through the window and I couldn’t get far enough away, they were getting longer and his hands on my neck and I couldn’t breathe and his head came through the window at me.
Then I woke up for real, gasping for air, SWEATING . . . trying to find the volume knob to turn off the surround-sound percussion instruments, but I couldn’t turn them off because it was the heavy rain on my metal roof and on the wood outside and against the skylight. And an animal scratching under the floor, under the toilet when I went pee in the dark. And a Navy jet flying low and fast and noisy because we live out here and can’t do anything to protect our freedom from military noise without being unpatriotic. And a cement-mixer or brush-cutter or street-cleaner humming and rumbling ominously blocks away.
And a bird at 6 am when I finally let myself go back to sleep.
I wish I still had Klonopin to stop me from dreaming too much. Part of the reason I had this heavy dreaming last night is because I hadn’t had enough sleep the night before and was up too late, plus I didn’t smoke. I *did* take GABA which I rarely do, so not sure if that contributed to it, or if being potassium deficient alters the effects of GABA.
We have the nicest bed ever in Seattle. It’s the best bed I’ve ever slept in, and definitely the fanciest Delia and I have ever owned. We got a super firm mattress. It feels ginormous to me.
We’ll have to revisit this in other pictures so you can see the entire bed to appreciate the scale of it relative to the scale of my human body.